


Gems of Ephedia: Emerald

by Kikurukina



Category: LoliRock (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Camp Nanowrimo 2017, Couples revealed as story progresses, Drama, M/M, Mephisto survives, Multi, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:19:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 48,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kikurukina/pseuds/Kikurukina
Summary: An ashen-haired man washes up on the shores of a resistance camp and he conveniently has lost his memory. Maybe its for the best that he does not remember--for now. Izira's army is marching its way to Volta, but Jodan knows better than to trust a woman that Gramorr purposely kept alive for almost ten years.





	1. The Mask

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, that season 2 finale! Mephisto! Praxina! Anyways, I’m writing this long before season 3 comes out (if it comes out, I hope it does) and I really want to write this.
> 
> This chapter is a little rough and I'm still trying to get the hang of the tone.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own LoliRock or profit from the LoliRock properties by writing this story. This story is written for pleasure's sake. All rights reserved.

His head pounded. 

The man tried to open his eyes, feeling mud and blood caked over his lashes.

He groaned, every breathe sending pain up and down his spine. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to be alive. He could feel his broken ribs flare white hot, making him wheeze. 

He forced himself to turn over. He barely had any strength to roll over. Suddenly, he was rolling down the side of a hill marred with crystal and rocks, every one of them beating at his body. Gravel and other silt fell after him. He let out a whimper when his side hit a particular sharp rock that pierced through his jacket and dug into his flesh.

He refused to cry, despite the tears forming at the corner of his eyes. Instead, he opened them, unsticking them from the blood.

The man brought a hand up to his face, feeling for the wetness. A head wound. How had he survived?

He looked up seeing shafts of light pierce through the lush green canopy. He inhaled the forest air. It was humid and had a sweet crisp taste. He let himself lie on the ground, trying to gather his strength.

He heard the trickle of water and that galvanized him to move. He had not realize that his mouth was so parched. 

He needed to keep going. He needed to move. If he didn’t, he was good as dead by nightfall.

He forced himself up despite the protest of his body.

All around him was black crystal, sapping away at his energy. He needed to get away and heal. It took him all his strength to get himself on his feet. He propped himself beside a mossy fallen tree. 

He grabbed his side. His white jacket was blooming red flowers near his stomach. There were shards of black and red crystal protruding from his wound. He exhaled, wincing and crying.

One foot in front of the other. That’s all that mattered.

Left foot, right foot.

Left foot, right foot.

He focused on moving towards the river. He walked for what felt like miles. Every step was an effort, an argument with himself to stay alive. When he finally reached the edge, he fell to his knees and splashed some water on his face, feeling the water sluice down his collar and over his skin. It felt fantastic, but it stung the wound in his side.

He stripped his clothes off, starting with his gauntlet, his gloves, his cape and then his white jacket. He hissed as the bloodied fabric unstuck itself from the open wound. Threads and bits of wool that had been buried deep into his side tugged at the caked blood and flesh.

The sun’s heat beat down on his neck and back.

Here came the hard part: removing the shards of crystal. He brought a hand to his wound and gathered his magic. His magic sigil appeared in hand and cast a green glow. He winced as the slivers slid out and brought on a fresh wave of pain and nausea. Sweat beaded on his temple and let go of the spell. He started to wretch into the river. Most of it had been water and spit.

He tried again, steeling himself for the pain. Rather than going slow, he pulled the shards out quick with barely any time to think until he felt the cool air settle on the exposed wound and that had him doubling over.

He grabbed the blasted black crystals and threw them into the river. He breathed out in relief. Already, he could feel his magic stitching his wounds up. He laid down on his side and curled up.

He dozed until it was sunset and he could feel that his body was stronger, or at least not bleeding profusely from his middle. His stomach rumbled. 

Hunger. 

He could not remember the last time he ate.

He rolled over and winced. His whole body hurt like he had been trampled by a demonic beast. He drank some water from the river and pulled himself up to find something. He was in no condition to hunt, he barely had strength to walk or cast a spell.

But shit, magic required energy and energy came from food. 

The man grabbed his shredded jacket and used a shard of green crystal to cut a ruined lapel into bandages for his wound. He put on the rest of his clothes and got on his way.

He needed food, shelter and a fire for the night.

He scrounged for berries and mushrooms until he happened upon an animal trail. He was lucky enough to catch a rabbit with a crystal dart with his sluggish reflexes. He had yet to encounter anything more ferocious than the animal roasting in his small fire. The meat was gamey and tasteless. His only solution was to squish jujuberries and let it cook.

His shelter for the night was a fallen pine tree and its dense branches. A chill was starting to set in and he dumped another log in the fire, fascinated by how it turned black and caught fire. 

He ate half of his catch and saved the rest for the morning. He knew he should not sleep but he was so tired and his body hurt. He curled up under the tree and tried to rest, half-alert to all the frightening noises in the forest.

000000

He dreamt. 

Like most dreams, they made very little sense.

He found himself dreaming of places and times—maybe memories of things his waking mind had forgotten—but he had no idea what it was all supposed to mean.

He saw a room with tall glass double doors and airy white curtains swaying in the wind. It was barely morning and he recognised the trappings of a four poster bed above him. It was warm and he did not want to move. He looked to his right and he saw a round cherubic face with messy platinum blond hair sleeping. He recognised the childish face.

He was sure that this was a memory from his childhood. He was a child, maybe three years old, and there was a girl beside him, he was not sure who.

On his right lying on the bed with them was a woman whose face made him well up with emotion. Joy, happiness, peace. She was perfection and love incarnate. She was their mother. They were sleeping in her big bed in their big manor. Her room smelt like freshly cut flowers and incense.

The two children had slept with their mother after she had told them that their family was going to be bigger and then she and her husband had had to explain to them how babies were made, but all of it was beyond them. They had asked a zillion questions and fell asleep in their parent’s bed.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she hummed into his hair. He pretended to be asleep so that this happiness could last. “You have to get up.”

He could already his hear his father and the knights in the courtyard gathering for morning training. 

Then dream fell away to another scene. 

This time, he was a little bit older. He was in the courtyard now, hefting a sword and fighting one of his father’s simulacra as the other men fought each other in sparring matches. 

He was losing the fight even though he was trying his damnedest to recreate the manoeuvre his father had taught him. His opponent disarmed and shoved him to the ground, making him lose his concentration. His sword was obliterated into shards. The boy rolled out of the way before his head met his opponent’s blade. His father stopped the fight and made him stand up and recite all his mistakes.

There was a girl sitting in the corner of the yard, reading her book. She had already lost her match and she was sulking. He joined her after getting water from the fountain.

The girl’s hair was dark now, red at the roots but still blond at the tips, just like him. They were learning magic now. Magic in the morning with their mother and her ladies-in-waiting, combat in the afternoon with their father and his knights. It had been a particularly difficult week of training and both of them were demoralized with their lack of progress.

“Mama is making cookies,” he said, sniffing the air. He knew where the kitchen vented and he smelt the familiar sweet spices of their mother’s baking. It made his heart flutter. “Let’s go steal some.”

“You’re such a snumple,” she whined. 

“Well, I get to lick the spoon then.” He headed for the door that was held open with a crystal.

“Hey, not fair!” 

“Fair is for sissies!” 

“You’re a sissy!” The girl scowled. She marked her page and shut her book, hopping off the fence to go sneak into the kitchen after him. 

The dream changed again, moving to the great hall of the castle.

He was just thirteen years old, kneeling on the long red carpet in front of his parents’ throne. It was solemnly quiet in the great hall and all of his father’s knights stood like statues, their eyes trained on him. His mother’s absence made the room seem colder. His sister had been sent away and he would join her in Gramorr’s army to fight the Ephedian Empire.

His father was praising him for being a shining example  for all sons to emulate and brought down the flat side of a ancient steel sword on his shoulders. He could not make out the words, too focused on his mother’s empty throne.

“You are now a knight of Erebus, rise,” his father said, and he did so. The man anointed his forehead with oil, drawing a warrior’s rune and brushing his long dark red hair out of his face. There was a hint of warmth in the gesture and the boy refused to acknowledge it. He was not here to have tearful goodbyes.

He had to remember why he was here and why he was fighting. His mother’s empty throne would be that reminder.

000000

The man sat up abruptly, his supernatural senses waking him up. The camp fire had gone cold and a dark presence clung to the air. 

A flock of birds flew overhead, desperately trying to escape. The man stood up, his pupils becoming narrow slits as he tried to discern what was in the darkness. The earth shook. A herd of deer rumbled through the trees and jumped over the roots, running by him.

He could feel it in his bones. The great dark magic that had brought the Queen of Ephedia to her knees. Gramorr’s magic. It swept through the forest, blackening the earth and draining the trees of their essences.

Like a coward, he ran as fast as could away from the rolling miasma. Black crystal sprouted from the ground faster than he could see. Branches scratched his face and tore at his clothing. A sapling smacked into his injured side, making him see spots.

He ran until his legs screamed and his lungs burned. His cape snagged on a tree and was ripped off his shoulders. He leapt over a log and struggled to climb a steep hill, trying to find purchase with his hands and feet. With a boost of magic, he leapt to the top and kept running. The darkness kept pace nipping at his ankles. It growled and swiped at his back, shredding the back of his tunic and causing red blooms to appear.

He let out an agonized shout, the cool air burning his back. His magic began stitching his skin immediately. He turned, gathering his magic.

 _“Ateruina!”_ He blasted wildly with everything he had, green energy scorching the ground.

The darkness receded behind the line of burning earth and hissed at him.

He knew it would not stop the darkness. His spell was a tiny thing compared to the great bottomless well that had consumed Gramorr. It would not be satisfied until it had him as well.

The darkness could not be stopped so easily.

Without waiting, he ran.

He did not stop until he reached the edge of a cliff, trapped between a sheer drop and a waterfall that tumbled into the valley below. In the moonlight, the river was a silver knife that cut through the valley and drained into a lake in the distance.

He felt the hairs on his neck stand up and turned, soaked to the bone from the white mist that rose up from the waterfall. He would make a last stand or die trying. The black magic curled and prowled. Two glimmering eyes followed his movement. In the darkness, he saw a dark red fire prowl through the trees. The dark avatar was nearly as tall as him and quiet as the wind. The flames in its fur flickered under the moonlight. It let out a throaty growl and dropped something on the ground. Half of a silver mask.

The man bristled, feeling his stomach churning. He recognized the mask, the shape, the colour, the evil it seeped into the ground and turning the earth black.

It was an offer. It was offering him the mask and its powers.

“No,” he said.

The feline creature let out a throaty growl, displeased. It took a step towards him. He took a step back, shaking his head. “No,” he said again.

The creature roared and swiped at him.

He flinched, taking another step, and then realized his fatal mistake in that split second of free fall. The man fell into the ice cold water and got swept up by the powerful currents. He plunged down the falls. His last thought was that he would at least die a free man instead of the vessel of the demon that had consumed Gramorr.

The creature looked over the edge, baring its yellow teeth and flicking its fiery tail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment or a kudos if you like this story. I'm doing this for Camp Nano this year and it would be great to hear some feedback. Thanks for reading!


	2. Allegiances

There was no time for celebrations at the Imperial Castle. Gramorr was gone but Praxina was still at large and her madness would not end with just one planet. While the imperial princess and her friends went back to Earth, the war that had torn the empire apart was not over. The king and queen had been imprisoned for fifteen years and much had changed since then. The king and queen were going to reclaim what was rightfully theirs—starting with the surrounding kingdoms. Volta was first on the list.

It had been three days since Gramorr’s defeat at the Temple of Andrak. Princess Izira’s loyalists were already preparing to march to Volta, her ranks swelling with the addition of whatever remained of the king’s imperial guard and the subjects enlisting into a newly formed small army. 

Jodan had his doubts about this resistance group turned army. Up until a few weeks ago, Izira had been trapped in Kroznak for almost ten years, malnourished and tortured. Kroznak was not a prison, it was a hole to die in, so how had the first Princess of Xeris survive without any lasting physical or psychological damage? She had recovered too easily from her incarceration.

Too convenient.

Jordan kept silent and did not voice his thoughts. He watched as Izira knelt before the Queen of Ephedia’s dais and pledged her undying loyalty to the Crown, recounting how she would never lose hope and work towards restoring order and peace in the empire.

He did not like this at all.

As soon as the ceremony was over and the queen had bequeathed a medallion to the white-haired princess, Jodan left the throne room. Every Voltan that crossed his path all lowered their head respectfully to him, some even bowing, some even running to line the walls like he was the Voltan Queen. 

He had caused himself a problem.

He made his way to the barracks to prepare for the journey to Volta. It would take two weeks at least. The old trade route that led into the heart of the country had fallen into disrepair and become a trap riddled with raiding parties and bandits. Plus, the Lurenia Bridge that his ancestors had built centuries ago was now a pile of rocks, adding another layer of difficulty to the journey. They needed to swoop in fast before lesser Voltan houses caught wind of Gramorr’s demise and started fighting amongst themselves for the throne.

Jodan needed to swoop in before things took a turn for the worst and there was nothing left of his country.

He turned a corner and noticed a shadow that followed his on the worn granite floor. Without thinking, he turned and grabbed the hand that reached for him with lightning-quick reflexes. 

“Easy, young man,” a deep masculine voice said. 

Jodan nearly twisted the hand before realizing that he was gripping the right hand of the King of Ephedia. Jodan let go of it and immediately fell to a kneel. “Apologies, your Majesty.”

The king motioned for him to stand up. “You’ve got good reflexes,” the man complimented. 

The king wore his armour and he looked no different than his imperial guards except for the crown on his forehead. His long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail and he had foregone the long ceremonial cape. Jodan had noticed that his boots were scuffed and dirtied and that his armour was not quite as shiny.

“You walk like a man on a mission, like a true Calixan warrior. I heard good things about you from Princess Izira’s lieutenants but you’re difficult to catch. What’s your name?”

The young man breathed out. “My name is Jodan.”

The king recognized the Voltan name. It was an old name that had been in the family for centuries and he would certainly not be the last to have it. The king eyed the dark star in crescent medallion on Jodan’s chest, the Hunter’s Moon, his magical artifact given to him by the Voltan Queen on the last night he had seen her.

“You’re a knight of Volta? From one of the remaining loyal houses, no doubt,” the king said. “Your loyalty and effort will not go unnoticed, boy.”

Jodan paused and put on a stormy expression, annoyed at the king’s tone. He was not here to prove his worth to this man.

“I am Queen Soraya’s unacknowledged son,” he said before he realized what he was doing. His voice was tinged with vengeance and hellfire. He should have been smarter, should have thought of Auriana and his other siblings.

He knew he surprised the older man with his statement and he could already see the king appraising him, considering him an upstart bastard. Jodan backed up a respectful distance and excused himself.

000000

Lyna was quick to change out of her dress and into something less conspicuous. Since she had left Borealis, she had learnt that long dresses were not ideal for resistance camps; they did not wash well in rivers. She had traded in her printed silks for Carissa’s robust Calixan clothes. Her money had been stolen, or rather she had misplaced it (she was not used to carrying a wallet). She had lost a lot of things since she ran away from home, but what she lost in material property, she quickly gained in experience.

Lyna undid her complicated hairdo and replaced her magical pin in her hair. She grabbed her cloak, hastily jumped out the window and floated down to the remnants of a geometric hedge maze four floors below. Pulling her hood up, she made her way to the barracks where the rest of Izira’s army was holed up.

There were a whole slew of newcomers in the camp and that made Lyna uneasy. A lot of faces that she did not recognize.

She made her way to the kitchen tents and found Carissa eating a stew. Lyna grabbed herself a portion and went to sit across from the Calixan princess.

“Slumming it with the soldiers again, Princess Lyna?” Carissa said.

Lyna gave her a good kick under the table and Carissa glared.

“The castle is boring. Plus, where were you at the allegiance ceremony? Everyone who was anyone was there.”

“Doing more important things like training the new recruits. I’m a warrior, not a kiss-up. Let my hard work be the proof of my loyalty to the Crown of Ephedia.”

Lyna had no reply to that. Carissa was the pragmatic one, short on eloquent words but big on actions and results. Lyna ate her stew and noted that she had gotten all the soggy noodles and bits of vegetables.

“Here, eat the rest of mine,” Carissa said. She spooned a chunk of meat into Lyna’s bowl. It larger than what a normal person would get. It was Carissa’s lion’s share. “You need the meat on your bones more than me. You’re skinner than my clubs.”

“Are we short on food again?”

“We’re gonna need to be careful about how many people join the resistance. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if we starved halfway to Volta. You and I both need more food than a normal person because we’re always using magic, imagine the others training hard everyday and having no experience.”

Lyna considered the plan. Everything was moving so fast. They were going to Volta to reestablish the food trade routes. Rumours had it that Volta had not suffered as terribly as Xeris or the other smaller realms, but who knew? It was hard to get messages across the empire. On Earth, they had cell phones and emails; on Ephedia, they had vocalextrae, magic charms and all sorts of unreliable devices that could be tampered by black magic. Auriana had wanted to stay but Jodan had convinced her to go back to Earth and help Iris.

“What do you think will happen in Volta?”

“We don’t even know what’s in Volta. For all we know, there’s nothing left. That’s why we’re going there to find out.” 

Carissa rose up from the bench and went to wash her spoon and plate. “Don’t get too comfy in that castle. We leave at first light tomorrow.”

“I’m just worried about something. Did you know that Jodan was the Prince of Volta? Seeing as you’re both training the new recruits and all.”

Carissa paused. This was the giant woolly maskmamooth in the room. “No. He never mentioned it. Why? Prince or not, he is best archer we have and we’re lucky he’s not one of those archers who don’t know how to make their own arrows.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd? Why didn’t he mention it to Izira or anyone else before?”

“How could he have proved it? Auriana has thirty-two sisters and every other day, there’s some girl proclaiming to be one of the long lost daughters of the Voltan Queen. I didn’t even know that the queen had a son until Auriana told us. He’s not mentioned in the Book of Bloodlines.”

Carissa finished up and parted the tent flap. “If you don’t trust him, then don’t, but Auriana does, and that’s good enough for me. Spenser said to restock on herbs in the royal gardens, by the way. We’re running out.” _Of everything_ went unsaid. 

Lyna sensed that that was the end of the conversation as Carissa exited the tent. The Borealian princess finished her stew and cleaned up. 

She had already gone through most of the castle cellars but those had been ransacked years ago during the decline. She hoped that there was something salvageable in the Royal Botanic Gardens. It was the size of a small country and she had very little time. Conservatories dotted plains and fields of ruined gardens, one for each of the crown kingdoms.

The vegetation had grown wild, the grass almost as tall as Lyna. Bushes and brambles had grown rampant and taken over most of the flowerbeds. There was nothing useful out here save for cuttings of berries and peppers.

Inside the glasshouse was another story. Her mother had told her of the conservatories that held plants from every corner of the empire. The Voltan Conservatory stood like castle of glass and iron. Up close, the windows had been smashed and the iron rusted by the elements. The plants inside had grown wild and had fought a war for dominance in the limited space, bursting out. Despite everything, life thrived.

There was a plaque on the mossy cobblestone floor that held a dedication to the people of Volta and their goddesses of bounty. Auriana should have been here. 

Lyna was careful to step through the dense foliage and dead leaves. The main chamber had a dome ceiling, most of the glass having fallen out. In the centre atop a steep hill was an arbor vitae, a sacred seven-fruit tree—the first that Lyna had ever seen in her life. She stood in awe, its great branches casting a shadow on her.

Blades of light cut through the canopy. The arbor vitae stood tall like a king, but the branches were fruitless and withered, the bark peeling off. It was dying, if not already dead.

000000

“We need to work on your stealth.”

“I wasn’t trying to, Spenser.” Carissa stomped up the steps. She tapped her heel on the stone just to be extra annoying. She hopped on the battlements and sat on top of a smooth merlon, whistled and shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with her gloved hand. “Hard to believe that this used to be all ours.”

“Dynasties rise and fall.”

Spenser was seated on the battlements as well with his back against the wide embrasure. At nineteen, Spenser was at least a head taller than her when she wore her heels. He was lithe but wiry, wearing dark purples and pale blues, a sign that he was a member of the Lady Morgaine’s Shield. Just like Carissa, he had orange hair but his eyes were silver grey. 

The man was busy recording his thoughts inside an ornate crystal scroll. Carissa suspected that there was more to it than that, but she did not put her nose in things that were none of her business when it came to the affairs of the Shield. If it was important enough for her know, they would tell her.

Carissa turned so that her back faced the sun and she pulled out a book from her cloak. _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu, a book that she had randomly perused in Aunt Ellen’s library, or rather Lady Ellira’s library, until the imperial knight had given it to her. The book had given her a lot to think about. She had made a habit of reading it everyday.

“You weren’t there when Izira swore her allegiance to the king and queen,” Spenser continued.

“I was training and helping in the barracks,” she said defensively.

“I didn’t say that you were in trouble. Although it would’ve been nice if you’d shown up as a sign of Calixan solidarity, seeing as you’re descended from Queen Maeve.” Spenser eyed the  Prince Henrik handled it.”

Carissa pretended to focus on her book. “I’m sure that Henrik made a nice speech or something.”

“As if he wouldn’t. The queen seemed quite angry though.”

“Of course, she would be. She probably thinks we’re going to depose her.”

When Spenser did not reply with a smart answer, Carissa lifted her head. “We’re not going to…”

“No.” The man met her gaze evenly. “But it’s not impossible either. You’re going to be sixteen soon and that means that you would be old enough to inherit a crown.”

Carissa shivered and sat there in a cold sweat.

“I expect you to keep an eye on Princess Lyna.”

“What about Iris? I thought we were reestablishing Queen Laeticia’ rule.”

Spenser frowned and put away his thought crystal. He straightened up and looked at Carissa.

“We went on this mission to stabilize the empire. Until half a year ago, we didn’t even know that queen’s daughter was alive.  Can you seriously imagine Iris the princess who grew up the on the mythical planet Earth ruling Ephedia? A girl who knows absolutely nothing about our world, who only learnt magic a few months ago, who wins her battles mostly through sheer luck and the power of the Ephedian Crown?”

“But Iris is a good person and it is her birthright,” Carissa defended. It was a weak excuse. She knew better, she was a princess after all. Her gut told her that Iris could be trusted, and she always went with her gut.

“Our oath as a Shield isn’t to serve and protect the royal family, Carissa.” Spenser reached forward and rapped a knuckle on her golden bracelet, her magical artifact. It made a distinct metallic sound. He wore one just like hers. “We swore an oath to protect Ephedia, not Princess Iris or Queen Laeticia. Lady Morgaine knew that better than anyone when she struck down her own sister in that same throne room.”

He pointed to the greying castle just behind him. Carissa knew the story well. It was the very first one that they told her when she begged to join the Shields. At the time, she thought that it was a deterrent to put her in her place. Now, it suddenly had a different meaning.

Spenser rose and hopped off the battlements, about to leave.

“Worry about Princess Lyna for now. We still didn’t find the spy who tampered with Princess Izira’s hand mirror. Lyna made it clear today where her allegiances lie. Happy reading.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot! Build-up! Tension! 
> 
> I gave the Queen of Ephedia an actual name because it became difficult and repetitive referring to her as ‘the queen,’ ‘the Queen of Ephedia,’ and ‘the woman’ in later chapters. I wished she had a canon name. For this story, her name is Laeticia VI.
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudo if you liked this story please! I'll be working on it all through April for Camp Nano.


	3. The Oath

It was not Prince Hendrik’s duty to accompany the Queen of Ephedia or pose as one of her bodyguards. He was not one of them anymore. When Gramorr was coming into power, he had returned home to Calyx and joined in his native army in preparation for the war. Now, he kept a respectfully half-step behind the queen as he followed her out of the throne room and across the gardens that had turned into forests of thorns and grassy plains. Nature had reclaimed the gardens and imposed its wildness in defiance.

Hendrik knew that the king’s knights kept a watchful eye on her from a distance despite the queen having excused them from their duties. They were exactly twenty-five paces behind him, which was not conducive for private conversations. He could feel their stares branding him a traitor. Along time ago, he had been one of them.

The queen moved towards a conservatory to have some semblance of privacy under the guise of a walk in the garden, like she used to do before the decline.

It had been over fifteen years but Hendrik remembered how much the queen loved the gardens. He also remembered how the queen had warded the conservatories for peace and privacy.

Hendrik knew the way and did not recognize the Voltan Conservatory until he saw the arbor vitae on the hill. He remembered hot summers and climbing the tree to pick fruit. He remembered the long hard days of training and drinking iced tea afterwards with the other children of his age. The last time he had been here was when he was eighteen and Princess Iris had just been born.

The queen raised a hand, her sigil appearing momentarily as she reestablished the protective wards. No one could eavesdrop on them. She then move to a moss-covered stone that once been a decorative stone chair and sat on it, gesturing to the one adjacent to her. An offer of truce.

“No, but thank you, your Majesty,” Hendrik said, keeping his hands folded behind him. A long time ago, they had been friends, more like passing acquaintances that often drank tea together because his mother had tried to arrange a match when he had become eligible for marriage. He was one of the few faces she recognized from her original court.

“Well, then,” the queen started. She straightened her dress around her feet as if she were sitting for a portrait. There were a few fine lines around her eyes and her pink hair seemed paler, she looked nonetheless unchanged from her years in incarceration. Gramorr had been kind to her. 

The queen removed the crown from her hair and placed it in her lap. 

The motion was so familiar. Hendrik closed his eyes to stop them from watering. It hurt to look at the queen after so many battles and so many years. She was still the same in so many ways.

“Let’s do away with the niceties first,” she said in her soft contralto. “In this place, you will call me Lady Laeta. It’s been years, but the past hasn’t changed. There are no crowns here.”

“As it pleases you, Lady Laeta.”

The woman glanced at the golden armlet on his left bicep. It was shaped like the star of Calyx. “I see that you rose up in the ranks of the Shield.” It was a kindness that she did not mention that he had broken his oath as an imperial knight loyal to her and joined the Shield.

“I did. I’m now a commander of Lady Morgaine’s Third Battalion.” A smiled pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, the ‘badasses’ as you used to brag.”

“The biggest baddest badasses of them all,” he chuckled.

“I’m…I’m happy for you, Hendrik. I’m sure you’ve made your father and your family proud. How is your father?”

“Dead, I hope,” he said.

The queen frowned.

“He proved to be a traitor to the legion and a conspirator in Sir Jaylen’s death. He was cast out of Calyx.” Hendrik did not offer any more explanation. He had gotten over the rage and hate a long time ago.

“I’m…I’m sorry to hear that. I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry about it too. It was a stain on Queen Maeve’s legacy—but we’re not here to talk about my father’s crimes.”

“No.” The queen breathed out and traced the shape of the crown in her lap. “I brought you here to ask one question and I can only hope that you say the truth,” she said.

She looked at the sword at his hip. A two-handed longsword. She recognized the hilt with its great amethyst and ruby star embedded into the polished metal of the cross guard. A sword of justice, the proof that there was a higher power than that of the Crown of Ephedia.

“Am I being deposed?” _Am I going to die?_

The queen looked up at Hendrik. She was several years older than him but in his eyes, she had always been the Imperial Princess and later the Queen of Ephedia. She had aways been untouchable, an ideal, a pillar of faith, but Hendrik had a duty to the people and the queen was not above reproach. The man crossed his arms unable to bear the human emotion painted across the queen’s face.

“The paladins have yet to decide on a judgement. You have been at the centre of a web of conspiracy for many years. It wasn’t just Gramorr, Lady Laeta.”

“I am not going to trial to answer for his crimes.” Her voice rose. “I am not the Shield’s enemy. I did everything to rule this kingdom fairly with what I could. I was a child when I became queen and then the war happened and then Iris…”

She paused. A range of emotions appeared on the woman’s face. Her eyes grew wide and fearful. She came to a painful realization.

The woman let out a human sob. “Hendrik, you have to kept Iris out of this. You cannot let the Shield get her. She did nothing wrong.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Hendrik, please.”

“If she stays on Earth, no one can touch her. But if she decides to come back to Ephedia and reclaim the throne, well…all bets are off.” The man shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortably with what he was saying. He had nothing but respect for the queen, but the Shield was a different matter.

“Hendrik, none of this is Iris’ fault. She was just a baby when this all happened.”

“No, but she has the most to gain from it. A throne, an empire to rebuild in her image, the Oracle Crown.” 

“Keep her out of this!” The queen radiated magic dangerously.

Hendrik bristled. He understood the queen’s sudden ferociousness, he knew her past and he could tell that her love for Iris was genuine, but he could not afford to be soft. The rest of Ephedia did not care about the queen’s love for her daughter.

Hendrik cut to the meat of the matter. “Lady Laeta, what is more important to you? The crown on your head or your daughter’s life?”

The woman looked at the crown in her lap. Her shoulders were shaking. 

“My daughter. Hendrik, please, you have to keep Iris out of this.” This time, she was begging. The years were showing on her. “Iris is the only good thing in my world and I only just got her back. I don’t want to lose her again.”

“If you want to keep Princess Iris alive, she has to stay on Earth. I can vouch for Iris before the high lords of the Shield and ask for their clemency in that regard but everything depends on what she does from this moment forward. I don’t like the idea of children getting tangled up in wars of succession. They’re usually the victim more often than not, but the Shield is thorough in carrying out their justice.”

The woman’s chest was rising and falling harshly and her shoulders trembled. She was a mother in crisis before anything else. She looked up at him with wide pale blue eyes. Her voice was stuttered. “Then swear on it. Swear on your sword that you will do it. Keep Iris safe from Lady Morgaine’s Shield.”

“Lady Laeta…”

“No, swear it! You will do everything in your power to keep Iris safe from the Shield. When I go to answer them, I won’t be able to protect her. I need someone else to watch out for her from within the Shield, to act in her best interestss. She doesn’t know anything about Ephedia and I don’t want her to pay for things she doesn’t understand.”

The queen rose. She put out an expectant hand.

“You know that I cannot do this,” he said.

She did not falter. “I will appear before the Shield and I will submit to their justice without resistance.”

“There is nothing that you can offer that will make the tribunals overlook Iris.”

They stared at each other evenly. Tears glistened at the corner of the woman’s eyes, nearly overcome with hopelessness.

The knight averted his eyes, looking at the grass at his feet. “I am a former knight of your imperial court and I swore an oath to you, and that should still mean something.”

Hendrik exhaled removed his sword and scabbard from his hip. He was sure that the knights just outside were watching. He was sure that he would regret this in the future.

The queen let out a sound of relief.

She took the blade and unsheathed it with trembling hands, reading the ancient runic name inscribed on the steel. Her sigillum appeared beneath her dress, glowing and dancing. A mystic wind rushed through the glasshouse, rustling the leaves and whipping the queen’s hair.

Hendrik summoned his own magic circle under his boots and placed his bare hand on blade, grasping it firmly and feeling it cut through his palm.

_“I call upon thee, o loyal knight of Ephedia and defender of justice, and upon the chivalric virtues of loyalty and forbearance to which you have devoted your life, and I ask of thee to defend Princess Iris before Lady Morgaine’s Shield and be the voice of mercy and compassion in my place. Swear upon this blade, upon this sword of justice that bears the name Lady Desdemona.”_

The queen’s voice rang through the conservatory. Her contralto was powerful, aided by the Ephedian Crown.

Their sigils spun and a new circle formed around the two, binding them in this oath. The star of Calyx surrounded them, spinning and filling the conservatory with light. Hendrik felt the magic of the sword run up and down his spine and he knew it was the same for the queen. The power within the blade awoke, like rousing a dragon from its slumber. A third presence joined them in the circle.

The spirit of the Lady Desdemona appeared in a shimmer of light. The statues and portraits in Calyx had never done her justice. Jet black hair and dark ebony eyes with skin pale as cream. She had the countenance of a war goddess even though she walked with the swagger of a conqueror. She wore armour that was centuries out of date, made from metal that had lost its gleam and been dented too many times. Her being was covered in an ethereal glow and her power was immense.

The legends in Calyx had spoken of Lady Desdemona’s dark beauty, but they also told about how she one of the greatest warrior’s Ephedia had ever known. The Queen of Ephedia was a small creature in comparison.

Hendrik lowered his head in difference to the apparition. For three years, he had carried the Lady Desdemona, had felt her spirit within the blade, had even heard her voice in his darkest hours, but this was the first time, he had truly laid eyes upon her.

The sword flew out of their hands and returned to Lady Desdemona's.

The spirit raised her blade to the queen, staring soullessly. She spoke, her voice sounding like an angelic choir that took away all the air in the glasshouse. 

_“Queen of Ephedia, you have called upon this man and upon his knightly virtues in hopes of striking a bargain. You have called upon him as if he were your own and asked him to subvert the proceedings of Lady Morgaine’s Shield in exchange for one life. You would sacrifice the lives of a thousand Ephedians for your daughter’s. A hundred queens and kings, princes and princesses, have been felled by my blade for the same reasons, trying to preserve their legacies and so that their children could fight for a throne that they believe is their birthright.”_

The queen stared at the sword, its sharp end only a few fingers from her face. “I don’t care if Iris doesn’t get the throne.”

_“And how do you know what Iris wishes?”_

“I don’t. I just want her to be safe and happy.”

_“And your life?”_

“My life…?”

_“Would you forfeit your life so that your daughter could keep hers? She would be alone in this world, with no home or country or noble house of her own, but she would be alive.”_

The queen paled and started to cry earnestly, tears falling down her cheeks. 

Hendrik kept silent as the dark apparition walked the edges of the magic circle, her sword still pointed at the queen. It was a cruel deal, it was a fair deal. 

“Y-yes,” the queen rasped. She was wracked with desperation, sapped of strength. “I would give my life for Iris’.”

_“Then it is done. Your life is forfeited when the lords of the Shield come to claim it. It will be my blade, the Lady Desdemona, that will come down on your head. The Princess of Ephedia will go free, stripped of her rights and titles, but with her life. Fail, and the Princess of Ephedia will take your place, Queen of Ephedia.”_

Hendrik winced as a searing hot pain forked through his hand. A purple and red star appeared on his palm, etching itself into his skin, shaped like the same star on the hilt of his sword. It was the proof of their pact. The queen looked at her own hand, an identical symbol appearing. She shook like a leaf in the wind.

The apparition disappeared and the sword fell to earth with a clatter, making the queen jump.

Hendrik picked up the scabbard and then the sword. “In the name of the Lady Desdemona, I swear it,” he said.

The queen startled as she heard the blade snap into its sheath. She sucked in a harsh and shaky breath.

There was nothing else to say and he could not help her anymore. The queen had gotten what she wanted, so Hendrik left her alone in the glasshouse under the arbor vitae.

000000

Lyna saw the glimmer of the Queen of Ephedia’s dress followed by the heavy footsteps of somebody in armour. She caught a slip of Calixan purple and the first thing she did was hide. She was not much of a fighter like the other Calixans, but she knew all about spying and court intrigue.

She had learnt from the best.

She touched her hairpin and cast a spell, hiding the glow of magic under her hood. _“Crysta audire.”_

For a moment, she thought she had stumbled upon a tryst between the queen and a former lover until Hendrik mentioned a judgement before the Shield.

And then Queen started begging for Iris’ life.

That piqued Lyna’s interest, so she sat still and listened. This information could be useful for later.


	4. To Find a Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izira and Jodan clash.

Jodan wrung out a towel over a wash basin. Clean water was still a rare commodity despite being in the capital. The water supply system had deteriorated from disuse and who knew if it was contaminated. He missed showers but he settled for a pitcher of hot water and a clean clothe to bathe. 

In the morning, all he would need to do is roll up his bed and saddle up his horse. He had changed out of his ceremonial Voltan garb and put on his usual pants and boots. He put on his medallion, feeling it warm up against his skin.

He felt nostalgic for home and wondered about Auriana on Earth. He wished he could have stayed on Earth. It was so peaceful and no one expected anything of him. Jodan quashed those feelings. He needed to live in the here and now.

He was putting on his shirt when he heard the sound of his door opening. He heard the tap of a heel on a wooden floor instead of Spenser’s usually light steps. He felt angry violet eyes glare daggers at his back. Now that Izira had her medallion back, not only did she have legitimacy, she had power, and it was easy to get drunk on power. 

“You may be the next Queen of Xeris, but you do not have free reign of the camp, Izira,” Jodan said casually over his shoulder and laced up his shirt. He would not be intimidated by Izira’s newfound powers or the fact that she caught him without his armour on.

“That’s Princess Izira to you,” she corrected.

Jodan stood up and straightened, lifting one brow at the Xerin princess standing in his room. “You think saying that and having a magical artifact makes you a princess? I’m the King of Volta then.”

The room grew noticeably chillier, matching the Xerin’s mood. Izira stood tall in her magical garb, her long white locks held up by her medallion. She exuded magic from her pores, like she was trying to show off that she was something special. Up until a few days ago, all Izira had had was her charisma and her legitimacy. Her magic had been nothing special and she had been mostly useless in a fight. 

Jodan remembered how the legendary Princess Izira of Xeris had been the last hope of the crown realms against Gramorr. Apparently, the rumours had been greatly exaggerated considering how easily Xeris had fallen.

“What do you want, Izira?” Jodan refused to acknowledge her title. So far as he was concerned, she had done nothing to earn the title. Even Iris, who had grown up on Earth, had earned her birthright through the trials of the Oracle Gems.

“This whole time…” Izira gritted her teeth and clenched and unclenched her hands. “Why didn’t you tell me you were the _Prince of Volta_?” The last part came out like a hiss.

The man curled his lips, trying to figure what she was playing at. The silence only incensed her more. Izira was supposed to be the more mature of them. She was five years older than him, but her incarceration had stunted her growth he realized. She had gone from princess-in-training to resistance leader with ten years of being Gramorr’s prisoner in between. He had realized over the weeks that the way she acted was a facade more than anything else.

“Technically,” Jodan started, “I am _not_ the Prince of Volta despite everyone thinking I am.”

“Then who are you? Don’t give me cryptic answers. Last I checked, Prince Jodan had been murdered along with Queen Soraya’s first husband fifteen years ago.”

“My father has a name, Izira,” he rumbled. That was his only warning to her. “And reports of my death were greatly exaggerated. If you recall, the Queen of Ephedia brokered a marriage between my mother and King Aulus that she could not refuse after my father’s death. For some reason, this meant taking away my birthright and giving it to one of King Aulus’ heirs so that the Crown could stand as a united force against Gramorr. Some plan that was.” Gramorr had still won and imprisoned his family.

“What’s your proof that you’re who you say you are?”

“What’s _yours_?” he said, giving her a don’t-be-dumb look. “I believe you’re the Princess of Xeris because your magic artifact acknowledges you. I have mine. Is this interrogation over now?”

“Whoa…what’s going on in here…?” Spenser appeared at the door, looking between Izira and Jodan. He stared at Jodan with a cheeky eyebrow raised. 

“Don’t even think about it, jackass,” Jodan yelled. The jerk probably thought he was interrupting a tryst. It did not help that some of his clothing was all over his bed.

Izira inhaled and regained her composure at the sight of Spenser. She took a step towards Jodan and looked him in the eye. “Even though we’re marching to Volta, I lead this army,” she warned.

Jodan realized that that was Izira had wanted to say all along. She was a afraid of an internal power struggle. She already had Prince Hendrik and the Calixan Shield to deal with. She did not want the Voltans rising up against her. The Xerins and Lyna were firmly entrenched in Izira’s camp, but Jodan might prove to be the weight that tipped the scale. 

“You can have your army, Izira,” Jodan said, “but don’t think the Voltans belong to you.”

“Fine.” The woman eyed him suspiciously. She was definitely paranoid, he thought, as she turned and walked out of the room.

“What was that about?” Spenser said after Izira’s heels became faint. He closed the door and cast a spell to lock it.

Jodan let go of the breath he was holding. “A declaration of war.”

“Awkward.”

Jodan went back to getting dressed. No way was he going to walk through camp without armour now. He slipped his dagger into his boot and combed his hair out of his face, tying it back.

“You heard everything, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Never had a reason to trust her—and I especially don’t now.”

The Voltan man closed his eyes and felt for his moon-shaped medallion. What was Izira planning?

“Hey.” Spenser placed a hand on Jodan’s shoulder. “I’ve got your back no matter what. You and I, we’re blood brothers. If you’ve got a problem with Izira, then so do I. You’re not alone, Jodan.”

Jodan grabbed his longbow and quiver. “I know. And thanks,” he said. “I just need to go clear my head.”

“Right.” Spenser eyed the bow that he was gripping tightly. “Happy hunting.”

Jodan grabbed his coat and left the room. He found his horse in the stables and made his way to gardens where large game ran rampant.

000000

_Several months ago…_

“Your sister’s in trouble”

The orange-haired man smashed his kalira sticks against the wooden dummy and let his weapons shatter into shards. His breathing heavy and his shirt drenched, he turned to the man leaning on a neighbouring wooden dummy. “What?” he almost shouted.

Mephisto uncrossed his arms and smirked. 

“I think I found your sister,” Mephisto repeated again.

“What?”

“Y’know, your little sister, she’s in trouble.”

Jodan breathed out a harsh breathe. “You’re going to have to be specific. I have a lot of those,” the orange-haired man growled. 

Then fear and panic struck him. Oh shit, did one of his sisters try to run away again or do something even stupider?

He summoned another pair of orange kalira sticks in his hands and prepared to attack the other man. He channelled his emotions into brutality. He had known the other man for almost ten years and he knew that Mephisto valued his sister Praxina above anything else. Sometimes, that care also extended to Jodan’s sisters when they got in trouble with their captors. 

But they both knew the rules of the mat. If you stepped onto the mat, you better be prepared to fight.

Mephisto sidled around the dummy gracefully and moved towards the open space of the arena mat. Despite being three years younger the him, Mephisto was strong, muscles everywhere, built like a beast, hitting growth spurt after growth spurt like they were mini shanilas. Mephisto conjured his own set of sticks and took a stance. Hard to believe that the redhead had not even gotten his real shanila yet. May the Gods him when he finally did. 

“Ezra.” Mephisto glanced meaningfully at the corner of the room and Jodan saw it. They had an audience. Whatever Mephisto was going to say had to wait. They needed to please the man upstairs.

They crossed their weapons and struck the floor, signalling the beginning of their match.

Mephisto was the more imposing of the two with his broad shoulders and pronounced jawline. Hands down, Mephisto was in a different weight-class altogether. He could easily pick up and throw Jodan across the mat if he wanted to, but brute strength did not win battles. 

What Jodan lacked in strength, he made up for in precision and agility.

Jodan made the first move, circling around the mat and aiming low for his opponent’s stomach. He was not even trying yet, testing the waters to see where Mephisto was. Mephisto easily countered and tried for his face.

Jodan deflected, lifting a brow at the bold move. The other man shrugged. _You can’t blame me for trying._

Jodan closed the distance and engaged his opponent, pressing on him blow after blow. Their sticks rang out in the gym. Mephisto met every blow, never ceding any ground. He even got a good kick in at Jodan’s middle, making Jodan lose his breath and his pace.

After a few minutes, Jodan’s arm felt like lead. He felt the strain of his workout and was getting frustrated at how Mephisto never made a counter. 

The jackass was smiling.

Jodan threw all his weight into his next attack and caught one of the man’s thick arms, thwacking his wrist to disarm him. As soon as Mephisto’s weapon shattered, Jodan had him in a full body takedown, his legs swinging into the air and wrapping around Mephisto’s neck. Jodan twisted his weight and Mephisto flipped forward onto the mat with a heavy thump.

Mephisto tapped out and Jodan thanked the Melzors that he did. That takedown had taken everything he had.

Jodan sucked in air and untangled his himself from the other boy. He rolled over and saw Lord Dimitrius appraise him from the balcony that overlooked the gym. He was a Borealian, a defector, a celebrated hero before he betrayed his own country and joined Gramorr.

Jodan rolled to his feet and lowered his head in a respectful bow. Whatever Lord Dimitrius’ reasons for joining Gramorr, Jodan had respect for the warrior that had taken him under his wing and raised him. As long as he did as he asked, Lord Dimitrius made sure that the rest of Jodan’s family was safe, fed and clothed with a roof over their many heads. 

Except Lord Dimitrius could not control little girls, several of them hitting puberty all at once.

“Work on your balance, Ezra,” Lord Dimitrius said. He had black waist-length hair and wore a jacket similar to a Borealian officer’s uniform with long wide sleeves made of painted silk. “The Princess of Calyx and the Lady Praxina both dual-wield, but neither of them are naturally ambidextrous as you.”

“Yessir.”

With that, Lord Dimitrius exited. 

Jodan grabbed his towel and headed straight for his room, Mephisto following behind him. He needed a shower and some time to clear his mind before he heard whatever Mephisto had to say.

He stayed under the cool spray of water for ten minutes, staring at the intricate blue patterned tiles. Each tile had been hand-painted and glazed, depicting a story. They had been kept in pristine condition due in part to Lord Dimitrius.

Jodan was still lucky that his father’s manor had not been torn down and looted, even luckier that he could still live in it. 

Jodan exhaled and turned off the shower. He cleaned up and got dressed, his armour going over his cloths as always. He dressed like he was heading into a fight everyday. The extra weight helped against any would-be backstabber loyal to the Ephedian Crown. He knew most of the former nobility had bad blood with the new government that Gramorr had established and they saw Jodan as a traitor and the prime agent of their oppressor.

He found Mephisto sitting in the library down the hall and drawing in a sketchpad with a pen. Jodan sat across from him. A servant had brought up a Borealian tea set for the Erebus knight and his usual post-workout smoothie for him. Jodan scowled at the smoothie.

“It’s not poisoned,” Mephisto said. “The servants were nice enough to bring it up to you.”

Jodan sat on the opposite sofa. “They’re paid to keep me fed and my house clean.”

“They were your father’s servants before yours.”

Jodan sighed and picked up the green drink. He drank half of it in one gulp just to appease Mephisto. “So, what is this about?”

He used a spell to close the doors and windows, effectively erecting a barrier. He swept the room for listening spells. Jodan lifted a brow at the younger man’s theatrics but he knew better. Lord Dimitrius had been an agent of the Borealian queen. 

“I think I found your sister,” Mephisto said.

“What?” 

“Ten years ago, when King Aulus tried to smuggle some of his daughters out of the country, which one fell off the bridge and into the river.”

“Mephisto, I was _there_.” 

Mephisto ignored the irritation in Jodan’s tone. The Voltan gripped his glass tightly, the icy chill being no comfort. “Auri. Auriana. She didn’t know how to swim.”

“What colour was her hair when she was born?”

“Dark auburn, like mine.” Jodan bristled. An image of little Auriana’s face popped into mind. It squeezed his heart and hurt.

“And when she was using magic?”

“Golden orange, like the summer blossoms on the Gaean. Different from me. Mephisto, what does any of this have to do with Auriana? She’s gone.” 

Jodan breathed out harshly, unsettled by his own words. He had not expected Mephisto to drill him on his sisters, on the sisters he could have saved if he had been faster on his spells. _Crystal slucium. Crystal pont. Crystal levare._ Any of those would have saved Auriana from being swept away by the river.

The memory flashed through his mind. A cold misty dawn, a wagon full of children crying for Mom that had left under the cover of night, the Lurenia bridge that had been torn apart right in front of him. Aurelie had died instantly when her head hit a rock, Auriana had fallen off the bridge and had been swept away by the current, Aurora had tried to fight but Gramorr’s general had grabbed her and threatened to slit her throat if Jodan did not cooperate.

Jodan reached for his glass and drank to occupy himself. The memory was as vivid as the night it had happened.

“Did she have a magical artifact?”

“Mephisto, I have the Moon of Volta.”

“What about from King Aulus? Did his family have any artifacts?”

“Anyone trying to work their way up to the throne would claim that they had one. Seriously, why do you care all of a sudden?”

“Prax and I found the Princess of Ephedia, the real one, but the loyalists got to her first. There’s Talia of Xeris and then there’s this girl who calls herself Auriana, the Princess of Volta. Orange hair, magical garb, sigillum, artifact and all.” Mephisto raised the sketchpad he had been working on, showing the drawing to Jodan. “Is this your sister?”

000000

The forest was deathly quiet, save for the sound of nightingales singing and the creek below him gurgling. Jodan lined up an arrow and aimed at the buck that sauntered out of the woods to drink at the creek. It was a good size although it would take time to quarter it. He let loose. The broadhead sliced through the eyelid and lodged itself in its brain. The animal dropped instantly and convulsed on the ground.

He exhaled, feeling his heart race with excitement. A good kill, clean and precise. He scaled down the tree that he had perched on and jogged to the downed animal before a predator came to fight him for it.

He removed the arrow from its skull and washed it in the river.

_Crunch._

His arrow was nocked and his bow drawn at the sound of leaves crunching under boots. Not a wild animal. Not a monster. The footfall of a human. He scanned the trees for a movement.

A hooded figure stepped out of the shadows, staying within the safety of the tree line. He wore one of the Resistance’s cloaks, not as embellished as one of the princesses, but the message was clear. The Resistance had been infiltrated.

Jodan relaxed the hold on his bow but kept his hand ready to draw. 

“You shouldn’t be here, Luce,” Jodan warned.

“Now that you’re the Prince of Volta, you’re a little difficult to meet in private.”

Jodan scowled.

“I’m here to make sure you stay on mission.”

“You know I will.”

“Will you? You have your sister back and Gramorr is gone. What’s to stop you from outing us?”

Jodan rose up, ready to rise to the task. He felt his heart raced, but not from the thrill of the hunt but from something darker within him. A challenge to the cloaked man, reminding him of what he was. He was darkness and power bound to flesh and blood, just like him, just like Mephisto, just like Praxina. “Because I still have something to do, a purpose.”

“And what is your purpose?”

“My purpose is _vengeance_ and I’m not done getting it yet. So stop testing me and stay out of my way, Luce.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Jodan, what are you playing at?


	5. The Dreams Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Izira-focused chapter. Everything is not as it should be with Izira.

“Our journey will take us near the Temple of Andrak,” Izira said as she stared at the illuminated map of the main continent. “I will send a scouting party that will detach from the main host to inspect the temple and find confirmation of Gramorr’s death or whatever is left of him.”

It had been days. If Gramorr was still alive, he would have made a move by now. Izira knew it in her bones that chaos wizard was dead. She did not need to see proof. She felt lighter, easier, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders, but the fact that Banes was with Praxina bothered her. She tried to not let it show on her face.

Queen Laeticia and King Simonides each sat on a chaise, regarding the Xerin princess carefully. They were in the library, the doors and windows sealed against spying. The castle had fallen into disuse but the library had been meticulously maintained. Gramorr had even enriched the collection during his years of conquest. Those books were definitely not going to be returned to their original owners and libraries now that they were in the possession of the Imperial Crown. That was how power worked.

Sir Hendrik stood with his hip leant against a desk. He was accompanied by Spenser who listened intently. Jodan stood in the corner. Just to unnerve her, the Voltan stood right in her field of vision, looking disinterested in the plan and wanting to be somewhere else.

Carissa and Lyna had not been invited to this war council and Izira suspected it was because they were still too young. 

“If all things go well, I will send a message back.”

“And if it doesn’t?” King Simonides said. “What would you do if you found Gramorr?”

Izira clenched his fist. “Kill him,” she said under her breath. 

Hendrik spoke up, unfolding his arms. “We are not judge and jury, Princess Izira. The Shield will not condone such as actions.”

“You want to arrest and try him before Lady Morgaine’s Shield? That could take months.”

“This is all if he’s still alive,” King Simonides said. “The young  girl Praxina has gotten ahold of Gramorr’s mask and his creature Banes. Who knows what else she got from him. We must proceed with caution and plan for every possibility.”

“With all due respect, your Majesty, but I will not allow this unless Gramorr proves to be a danger to the rest of Ephedia. We wrote down laws so that justice could be dispensed fairly.”

“Gramorr tore my family apart and deposed us,” the king growled indignantly. “You speak as if Gramorr was little more than a petty thief.”

“And you speak like a man seeking revenge, not justice. You’re the King of Ephedia, the prosecutor of law and order. If you start executing your subjects without the right to stand trial, you prove that the people cannot trust their rulers and they will rise up against you. And then Lady Morgaine’s Shield will step in,” Hendrik warned.

The king rose up from his seat. “How dare you threaten—!”

For the last half hour, there had been an underlying tension in the room between the Calixan knight and the King of Ephedia. Izira had no idea what the story behind it was but she was starting to get annoyed at being interrupted every five minutes. She watched as their bickering heated up.

“ _Stop_.” 

Izira covered her ears as the Queen of Ephedia’s voice rang in the library. There was something extra magical in her voice.

The Queen of Ephedia commanded silence in the room. Her hair glowed and her crown shimmered with magic. A warm mystic wind blew through the room, making Izira shiver. Jodan straightened up from his position in the corner, taking a strong stance.

“ _Lord Gramorr,_ ” she said with great emphasis, reminding everyone of the dead wizard’s title, “is first and foremost a member of the royal family. I am not going to be party my cousin’s murder. If I could turn back time and stop Gramorr from going down his path, I would, but that is not the case. He did awful reprehensible things but he is not exempt from standing trial.”

“My sweet,” the king started, turning to his wife to supplicate her, “perhaps you’re being too soft.”

_“I AM THE QUEEN OF EPHEDIA. I AM THE RIGHTFUL INHERITOR OF THE ORACLE CROWN. I WANT GRAMORR TO STAND TRIAL FOR HIS CRIMES SO THAT PEOPLE OF EPHEDIA MAY GET JUSTICE FROM ALL THIS VIOLENCE, NOT SO YOU CAN SETTLE YOUR PETTY VENDETTA.”_

Anger. Rage. Fury.

Izira was knocked down from the sheer power of the queen’s voice. Her ears rung out and tears appeared at the corner of her eyes. The queen’s magic unravelled something dark inside of the Xerin princess. Her own well of anger opened up and suddenly, the memory of her mother and father flashed through her mind. A memory that she had buried in the back of her mind ten years ago. A memory she had tried to forget over and over. Their lifeless expressions. Their dead eyes. 

She took in a deep breath and before she knew it, her body was racked with sobs. Tears fell down her cheeks.

She wanted what the queen wanted. She wanted justice for her mother and father’s murder at the hands of Gramorr. She wanted more than that. She wanted vengeance, but this was why she was not the queen of Ephedia.

She was trapped in her prison again. Trapped in her mind. Trapped in Kroznak. For ten years, she had lived with the knowledge that her parents had died protecting her, that her sister had probably been captured and killed during the festival, that her realm had fallen because she had not been able to stand up to Gramorr. She had been the hope of her realm even though she had only been sixteen.

“Hey,” a smooth voice said.

Izira cracked her eyes open. A large rough hand was on her shoulder. She looked over, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

Jodan was beside her, concerned. He looked pale, obviously affected by the same wave of magic, but clearly made of sterner stuff. “Are you alright?”

“I…” _No_. She never would be, not for the rest of her life.  “Yes, yes, I’m fine. It’s just…” she stuttered. She feared to look at the queen, in case another wave of dark memories hit her.

Sir Hendrik and the king were still on their feet but both of them regarded the queen cautiously. Hendrik was the first to react, lowering his head respectfully. “If Gramorr is alive, we will bring him to trial before Lady Morgaine and the Shield.”

The queen imperiously dismissed everyone. She regarded the prince and princess. Izira took a deep breath and forced herself to stand up. “I apologize…I started this by saying something I shouldn’t have. I didn’t mean to disrespect your family…”

“No,” the queen said. “I apologize. I thought I could trust the men to keep their heads cool. I don’t condone Lord Gramorr’s actions either. All they want to do is wage war and takeover Ephedia like it is the first age of conquest. Please, sit down, Princess Izira.”

Izira lowered her head respectfully and Jodan escorted her to an ottoman.

Queen Laeticia sat across from Izira on her chaise, folding her hands in front of her. “My power is overwhelming, I know, and I am still adjusting to it after so many years of imprisonment. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you somehow.”

“It’s fine…”

“It clearly isn’t, Izira.” The queen offered an embroidered handkerchief from the folds of her dress.

“I’m sorry, Lady Laeta,” Izira  started again. She sucked in a breath. It had been more than fifteen years since she had seen the Queen of Ephedia. The Queen was as unflappable as ever, but Izira was not.

“I’m sorry too.” She brought up a hand and wiped a tear off her cheek. “I don’t imagine being Gramorr’s prisoner had been easy. He had told me about your parents on the day it’d happened and in great detail how he destroyed all the crown realms. I can’t replace them and I can’t bring them back.” The rose-haired woman opened her arms and enveloped Izira in a tight hug. 

Izira broke out in a sob. For weeks, she had been many things. A leader, a warrior, a sorceress, a princess, a big sister, but she had yet to be a daughter. Straight from coming out of Kroznak, she had no choice but to make her place in Sir Hendrik’s band of warriors. She had to be on top, strong, invincible as she had been ten years ago. The task was nearly impossible. Her body was weak, often rebelling against her. She no longer menstruated, she was not as strong as she thought, she could not run far, and spells took a toll on her.

The queen dismissed Jodan, asking him to send up tea. Izira silently praised the gods that he left so that he did not see how pathetic she was.

“I can’t stop this plan, Izira,” the queen said. “We have to move swiftly before whatever remains of Lord Gramorr’s forces rally their troops and start moving. I know that you feel like you have to lead because you’re the princess of Xeris and that everyone had had high expectations of you ten years ago—”

“I can’t just stand by, Lady Laeta. I…I have to do something. All this time, Talia was alive while I rotted in that cell. I didn’t do anything to escape because I thought…”

“Because you had lost all hope.”

Izira nodded, her eyes lowered. 

“What you need is to let people help you.”

Izira shuddered. “I’m fine. I can do this.”

“You can’t do this alone, Izira. Gramorr destroyed millions of lives, yours included. It’s only been a few months since you escaped Kroznak. If you do too much too fast, you won’t last. You know how magic works. So promise me that you’ll ask Sir Hendrik for help. You can trust him.”

“How? He is duty-bound to the Shield.”

“He will do what he believes is right. I know the Calixans will listen to him better than you. I spoke with him earlier. We are both allied in this mission.”

A male servant came back with a tea service, setting it up on the low table. It was clear that Lyna had had a hand in the brew. The servant turned to Izira with a bowl in hand. He lowered his head. “The Prince of Volta offers this fruit to you as an accompaniment with the tea. He says it should help you replenish your energies.”

Izira’s jaw ticked. She eyed the fruit warily. A gift from the Voltan. It was orange yellow and hastily peeled and cut with a knife in rough glistening and succulent cubes. She had never seen this variety of fruit before, but she was not familiar with Voltan foods and had also been imprisoned for ten years. Maybe her reaction should not have been to be suspicious, but still…

Seeing her hesitate, the servant added, “We call it Life’s fruit. It is one of the seven sacred fruits that can be picked from the arbor vitae. In Volta, we eat it when we are ill or in low spirits. The prince told me that you would think the gesture suspicious and to assure you that it wasn’t poisoned. I believe he meant it in jest, your Majesties.”

“How thoughtful,” the queen said. “Give him our thanks.”

The servant bowed and exited the room. Queen Laeticia regarded the fruit, brows furrowed, and Izira noticed it.

“Is…is something wrong?”

“No,” the queen said and picked up a bowl and fork to take a serving of fruit.

000000

Izira did not know how to dream anymore. Or if she even wanted too. The dreams hurt.

She was back in her hole in the ground again, lying on the stack of stones that was wide enough for a torn blanket and an animal pelt.  It took exactly forty-seven paces to make a full circle of the stone floor. She was surrounded by black crystals that drained her of her energies. They took away her will, her spirit, ate her hope, sucked the life out of her and left an empty husk. The crystals glowed like the fires of hell.

When Gramorr had first captured her, he had given her two choices: become one of his generals or be his prisoner. She had known about Gramorr making wild promises and recruiting nobles into his armies. She had chosen and the latter and became his prisoner, keeping her loyalty to Xeris and preserving the pride of her family.

That had been a mistake.

She had been paraded among the realms as the prized pony, humiliated and disgraced. The Xerin soldiers had dropped their arms at the sight of her being pushed in front the of Gramorr’s invading armies and hundreds had died trying to rescue her. 

Everyday, she wondered how differently things could have been if she had joined Gramorr. The guilt ate at her. The shame weighted on her shoulders.

Izira shuddered in her sleep and let out a pained sound. It was there again. Yellow eyes. Crimson fur. Claws like knives that scratched on the cold stone. It circled her on quiet footfalls. It rounded around her playfully. It ate at her mind, pressing and pushing against her brain, trying to taint her with dark magic. That had been her life everyday since they had dumped her in Kroznak.

Izira let out a pained shout in her sleep and woke up. Her heart raced and her skin was chilled. She had thrown the blankets off her pallet. Her pillows were tossed everywhere. She rolled to her side and started to cry.

She did not know why and she did not stop until her tears had run dry and nose was rough to the touch. And then she realized that she was not going to sleep anymore.

Crying for no reason. Waking up in the middle of the night with her heart racing. The sleeplessness. It was not the first time that this had happened. 

Izira dug herself out of her pallet on the floor and threw on her cloak, knowing that she would just walk aimlessly about until life in the resistance started again. She was in a suite that had been meagrely furnished. There was a bed in the corner—a real one that she had dreamt about for years—but she had been unable to fall asleep in it.

Izira wondered the castle grounds. It was just past midnight and people were starting to turn in for the night. Tomorrow was going to be an early start. The was a chill to her skin that she could not get rid of no matter how tightly she wrapped her cloak around her.

The fires from the forge in the barracks were still lit. She looked up at the rooms where the soldiers’ quarters were. Her mind wondered to back to this morning’s conversation with Jodan and then the war council just before dinner. It was admittedly not her best display.

Jodan being Princess Auriana’s older brother had blind-sided her completely. She had known about the thirty-two sisters, but not the _one_ brother, not the disinherited brother who should have been dead, not the brother who had worn the true treasure of Volta under his shirt the entire time, not the brother who had failed to swear allegiance to the Queen of Ephedia.

Suddenly, the last three weeks with the Voltan man in their camp seemed like a lie. Auriana had begged her to go rescue a boy called Jodan from Kroznak prison. At first, Izira had thought that Gramorr had captured an Earthling and brought that person to Ephedia. She had not hesitated to send Carissa and Spenser. They had led the mission and had returned successful, although battered and bruised with Carissa having been knocked out by a blow from the back of her head. (“I can’t believe I missed the whole fight.”) The Calixan detachment had been followed by three dozen other freed prisoners and slaves that had joined their resistance.

Maybe she was wrong about him and she was going about this the wrong way. The moment in the library told her that Jodan cared about his fellow man. She did not want enemies within her own camp.

Izira stopped when she saw to the doors to barracks swing open. Her heart stopped. The fates could not be this cruel. A man stepped out, his hood over his head. She pursed her lips. She did not need to know that it was Jodan. His height and his build gave it away.

Then a girl walked out after him, latching onto his arm, one of the many strays that joined them on their way to the capital. She whispered into his ear, making him laugh. They were distracted, whispering dirty things into each other.

Izira did not need it spelled out about what was going on. A few of the people had started offering their companionship to others in the camp. More than once she had seen a few Calixan knights walk out of the camp looking for a secluded place. The thought made her sick. She guessed that Jodan was no different. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, the army starts moving!


	6. The Almoris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter needs some proofreading that I will do later when I come back from Comic Con. Enjoy!

“Hey, fuck off! It’s not even daylight!”

“Get up, Spense.”

It was an early start for Jodan. He had gotten up before Spenser and pulled the sheets off the Calixan just to be annoying. Spenser knew better than anyone that military life was all about earlier mornings, long days and late nights. Jodan packed his things and went down to the yard. 

He started with his morning stretches, feeling every muscle come alive, practiced his forms, did his reps, push-ups, sit-ups, wall-sit, planks. Spenser joined him ten minutes later, followed by Carissa. For a while, people used to ask Jodan what he was doing. His routine was not like the one the Calixans practiced. There were no hard lines or swinging heavy weapons. He flowed like water and moved like the wind, he pivoted and circled. He focussed on precision and control. Then they accepted that this was his routine of sorts, just like Carissa practicing her exercises with her clubs or Lyna with her morning lauds.

After warming up his muscles, Jodan took off at a jog. The sky was turning pale and he could hear the camp start to wake up. There was trepidation in the air. Volta. He was going home. This time it was free of Gramorr. Who knew how long that would last.

He jogged through the gardens, the cool air burning his lungs. The air still held the remnants of Gramorr’s dark magic. He was weaving through the overgrown hedges when he noticed the imperial knights closing in on him. They did not say anything but it was clear that they were here for him. He turned a corner and found himself jogging down a pathway that had been cleared of all overgrown vegetation, probably with magic. He knew this because he had been here last night.

“Looks like they found out,” he told himself. He jogged up to the cluster of knights standing at the entrance of a domed conservatory and psyched himself up for whatever was going to happen next. He was wary of how they positioning themselves in all directions, blocking every escape.

“Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence, Prince Jodan,” one of the knights said.

Jodan scowled. “I’m not a prince.”

“By the Queen’s decree, your title has now been reinstated. Congratulations, your Highness.”

“What?” Jodan tried to control himself. His chest was still rising and falling.

The knights moved and gestured towards the inside of the conservatory. Inside, he could see a gaggle of servants rushing about. “The Queen awaits you at the foot of the tree for an early breakfast before you depart for Volta.”

“The arbor vitae, you mean.”

“I’m sorry, your Highness, I don’t speak the Voltan language.”

Jodan took in a deep breath and entered the conservatory. It looked like an army had gone through and made the place presentable again. He could see a pile leaves and cut branches covered under a clothe. Then everyone started kneeling.

Jodan fell to one knee, lowering his head and bringing a fist to his chest. 

Queen Laeticia wore riding clothes. Her pants were freshly pressed and free of wrinkles, her boots shone, her jacket fitted her like a uniform. She had twenty-layer sheer petticoat that floated behind her like clouds of white and pink fire. Her crown was on her temple as usual and her long hair had been pulled into a neat queue. She was full of energy, as if the last ten years of imprisonment had never happened.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said cheerily and motioned for everyone to rise and continue. “Prince Jodan, come. I heard that you were an early riser so I’ve prepared a breakfast for you.”

Jodan rose and eyed the queen suspiciously. The queen moved towards a shaded spot under a copse of wide-leaf palmae. A table and two chairs had been set up with a spread of bread, cheese, fruits and tea.

“Have you ever been to the capital before?” she asked, sitting down. 

“No. Or if I did, I don’t remember, your Majesty.”

“Call me Lady Laeta. Let me tell you about this conservatory. In there, there are no crowns. Within these walls, you are safe from the eyes of spies.” To demonstrate her point, she removed her crown and placed it on a nearby ornate cushion.

“What exactly do you want?” Straight to the point. Jodan did not have the patience for mind games. That was Praxina and Mephisto’s thing.

“I’m trying to say that you can be candid with me, Jodan.” The queen’s voice was sweet like a birdsong, like a mother’s. 

“According to your guards over there, I was just declared the Crown Prince of Volta in my sleep just like you forced my mother into a marriage that she did not want. You’re the last person I’m going to be honest to, Your Majesty.”

Jodan’s voice was tinged with venom and fire. The woman had the decency look ashamed and that pissed him off. His blood boiled. He wished he could kill her on the spot.

“I’m sorry about Soraya. We could have come to a better solution than—”

“I’m not going to listen you deny your involvement in my father’s murder and my mother’s forced marriage. I’ve seen the royal decree and the tangram seal imprinted on it.”

The queen froze. “So you know about—”

“Of course I know. It is the thing that drives me!” Jodan’s voice rose, amplified by magic and anger. His emotions were getting the better of him. “My mother faked my death after my father died because she’d caught wind of the plans to kill me too and leave her heirless. An heirless queen and an imperial army general marching his army to Volta to supposedly reinforce the borders against Gramorr’s forces. A marriage of convenience easily struck. Aulus had a dozen concubines and he dumped all thirty of his damned daughters in my mother’s lap, making every single one of them a Princess of Volta.”

The queen listened, hers eyes widening as his voice rose with every octave, but she was far from surprised.

Jodan wished so hard that he could unleash all his magic right now, to get justice for everything that had happened since his father’s death. _Vengeance_. He could exact it right now. His hand itched for a weapon.

“I see then that there is nothing I could do to assuage your fury on that matter. I believed by giving you back your rightful birthright, we could start building a better future.”

If looks could kill, the queen would have been dead already. “A future with you and your family on the throne is not one that I will tolerate nor do you have the right to reinstate my title after everything that has happened. Stay out of the affairs of Volta.”

The queen swallowed thickly, rebuked. “You’ve made up your mind then. There is nothing else to talk about. Before you go, I want to thank you for the arbor vitae. I mean this sincerely. Its name is Almoris. You brought it back to life and made it bear its fruits with your magic. Only someone descended from the great house that guards the Gaean tree in Cassia could do that.”

“I didn’t do it for your benefit.”

Jodan looked at the Almoris. It had been dead last night, ready to be chopped off for firewood. Its dead leaves were now green and gold. Fat fruit hung from its branches and some of it had fallen to the ground.

Every arbor vitae had a name, but this one in the capital was a tiny thing compared to the ones in Volta. They were the lifeblood of the country, the centre of life. People married and gave birth under its branches, celebrated coming-of-ages and knighthoods. This tree out in the middle of a sterile glass cage was sad, like a specimen under watch.

Jodan lifted an arm to a low-hanging branch. It shuddered under his touch, more fruit dropping to the ground. He grabbed one out of the air. “Praise the Gaean from whom all blessings flow,” he said under his breath and walked away. As the saying went on Earth, it would be a cold day in Hell before he shared a meal with her.

000000

The Sidonay Stronghold was one of the oldest stone fortresses north of the crown realms. It stood high on the Throne of Ashmedai, an unnatural mountain made of slabs of milky crystal and chthonic magic, built long ago with the aide of supernatural forces, older than the Calixan sorceress Lady Morgaine. It was nigh unassailable, one of the first defences against the crown realms that lied south.

On certain mornings, the mist would roll in from the east, obscuring the bottom of valley and turning everything white like a sheet of snow. The mist was starting to lift and reveal the miles of verdant fields around the Ashmedai. 

Serafiel passed through the portrait gallery. It was one of the older parts of the castle, connecting the old keep with the rest of the fortress. There was one portrait that always drew her eye, the very last one on her way to the great hall, a portrait of the next Lady Sidonay and her younger twin brother who would probably become the future commander of the Order of Black and White.

The picture was rather austere for a pair of thirteen year olds. Or maybe it was the painter who had done that. Praxina’s expression was too severe and Mephisto’s brows were too prominent. Both of them wore snooty noble expressions that Mephisto made fun of just like in the other portraits in the gallery. They both had white blond hair with the tips of their locks streaked deep crimson. Praxina’s hair had been let down in honour of her going through her shanila.

It was the last picture of the twins before they had left for Gramorr’s army. That had been four years ago.

A year ago, Mephisto had sent an tangram message saying that their group had infiltrated Gramorr’s inner circle. His communications became increasingly infrequent, coming at months apart. The last update had come straight out of Volta four months ago.

She missed them, more than she would care to admit. She missed Praxina playing the crystal piano in the conservatory and Mephisto painting in the garden with his watercolours. 

“Hey. Father asked for us,” Zachariah said, appearing at the end of the hall. He was Serafiel’s younger twin brother, just like how Meph was the younger twin. 

And just like Prax, she was the older twin.

“What’s it about this time?” she asked. 

“Dunno, but it seems pretty important. He sent Uncle Papi to fetch me personally at the Reserve. We better go.”

The two of them made their way to their father’s study. They entered, sensing that something was amiss. It was not often that they were invited into the study. The first thing they noticed was the scattering of glass at the foot of the fireplace and the carpet being wet.

Zachariah smelt the whiskey instantly and scrunched his face. Their father was not a heavy drinker. Serafiel was quick to pick up the glass with a spell until her father spoke. 

“Leave it, Sera.” Only their father could call her Sera. And Mephisto too, but that had been years now. None of his tangrams were ever addressed to her. She was Seraf and Serafiel to everyone else.

Lord Sidonay sat at his hand-carved whitewood desk. He was agitated, his hands shaking on the armrests of his chair. The air was thick with anger. There was a smashed vocalextra on the table.

“Did we do something…?” Serafiel asked. 

The man drew in a shaky breath. “There’s no good way to say this. Mephisto is dead.”

A painful silence followed.

It took Serafiel a moment to understand what her father had said. The enormity of the words flattened her.

Zachariah stilled, his blue eyes turning wide. “That’s not possible…”

Their father let out a pained sound, an inhuman cry.

“What about Praxina?” Serafiel asked quickly, struggling to imagine Mephisto anything but dead. 

“She’s in the wind. No one knows where she went. They think she went after the Princess of Ephedia.”

“I don’t understand. Where have they been all this time? You never tell us anything and now he’s…they’re… What happened?” Serafiel cracked. A thousand questions crashed against each other like torrential ocean waves in a storm.

“Gramorr is dead, killed by the Princess of Ephedia. There was a fight at the Temple of Andrak. For the last year, Praxina and Mephisto have been working under Gramorr on a way to find the Oracle Gems until they found out they were not even on Ephedia. Queen Laeticia had hidden her daughter and the gems on another world called Earth. That’s where Mephistopheles and Praxina have been for the last few months.”

“You knew this.” Zachariah finally found his voice. It was tinged with anger and unexpected betrayal.

“Of course I knew this!” their father shouted, more from anger and lost than true rage.

The twins winced. 

“So what now…?” Serafiel said.

“I’m sending you both south to Volta to meet with General Azrael. You’re going to find Prax and Meph and bring them home. If…if Mephisto is dead, he should be buried here at the stronghold, not in some ditch in a faraway land. Lady Sidonay would at least want that. Now go.”

Serafiel did not realize it but she tears running down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. She looked to her younger brother and saw that his eyes were watering too. The twins teleported out of the room in a blaze of black fire before they embarrassed themselves in front of their father.

000000

Izira’s envoy stopped for the day. Progress was slow. In Jodan’s opinion, there was no way they were going to make it to Volta anytime before winter came if they kept this up. Jodan unsaddled his mount and rubbed her down. He let her wonder to the river where she drank her fill.

They were following an imperial highway that was in desperate need for repairs, trudging through battlefield after battlefield, the remnants of the Gramorr’s war. It was a difficult sight for some of them. The Resistance had been more or less divided into three groups: the Calixans that composed the majority of their fighting force; the Xerins and the imperials who worked around Izira’s camp; and lastly, the Voltans and whatever small smattering of minorities who were mostly camp followers and labourers.

Jodan was washing his canteen out in the river when Spenser showed up.

“Hendrik’s calling a meeting.”

“Have fun at that.”

“He wants you there specifically.”

Jodan emptied his canteen and gave a curious look to the Calixan camp just around the bend. He rose and followed Spenser through the camp down to the front the army, passing through the Xerin encampment. Spenser pulled back a tent flap that led into Sir Hendrik’s tent, motioning him to enter. Jodan had no idea what to expect.

Carissa was already in there, staring at her book. One of her legs was bouncing, meaning that she was not actually reading. She looked up and furrowed her brows at Jodan. “Do you two know what’s going on?”

Spenser shrugged and plopped himself on a couch. The interior of the tent was furnished like a house and decorated with Calixan aesthetics. What would have taken hours to set up had only taken a few seconds with the help of magic. Jodan sensed that there was a pocket dimension at play in the tent because the exterior size did not match with the interior.

Just then, Sir Hendrik entered the tent, making both Carissa and Spenser stand up at attention.

“At ease.” Hendrik waved for them to sit back down and motioned for Jodan to take a seat. 

“I’ve called you three here for a reason.” The man went to stand at his desk. “I suppose we should address the fact that we have a Voltan prince in our midst.”

Carissa looked up. It seemed just like her to be out of the loop.

“Did you know that Queen Laeticia just sent out her first royal decree in fifteen years and it was to reinstate your title?” The older man pointed to Jodan. “Some people would call this irony or kismet.”

“It isn’t, is it?” Spenser said.

“Nothing is ever simple when it comes to the Crown.”

“I spoke to the queen this morning.” Jodan crossed his arms and tapped his fingers on his bicep. “I don’t trust her.”

“You don’t have a real reason to. I don’t see what her motive is yet.”

“So…does that mean you’re the Prince, for real?” Carissa asked.

Jodan breathed out reluctantly. “Yes.”

“That’s great! That’s great, right…?” She looked at Spenser for confirmation. No one in the room was elated. 

“So how does this change things with you and the Shield?” Jodan asked.

“Not much. You’ll be doing the same things. You’ll ride with the camp followers up until we get pass Illismelle. Izira plans to send a group to Andrak. You three will form a squad and depart for there.”

“I thought the plan was to send at least a platoon.”

Hendrik unrolled an old paper map over a table, drawing them. He pointed at several marked landmarks while he spoke. “Izira doesn’t want to include you three in this plan, for obvious reasons, and I don’t like that. So, when you get the opportunity, you’re going to slip out.”

That perked everyone’s interest.

“A squad as in just us?” Spenser asked to clarify.

“Yes.”

Carissa closed her book. “Izira won’t like it.”

“Well tough for her, Carissa. Izira in not your field commander nor is she your queen,” the knight reminded gruffly. “I shouldn’t be questioning your loyalty for Lady Morgaine’s Shield. What I order you to do or where I send you is none of her business.”

Carissa lowered her eyes, embarrassed. “You’re right. I am first and foremost devoted to the Shield.”

Hendrik continued on. “The only thing is that Izira won’t know about you three and I don’t want her to find out until it’s too late.”

“We’re going behind her back?” Spenser guessed.

“Yes.”

A secret mission was not what they had expected.

Hendrik turned to the other two. Jodan feared that he would turn that temper on him. Thankfully, he did not. “You’re going to find out what happened in Andrak. Gramorr is not the kind of man that would let a bunch of girls kill him this easily. Find out what he was doing at Andrak.”

Not more than fifteen minutes later, Jodan and Spenser exited the commander’s tent, feeling anxious. Carissa remained inside and it looked like Hendrik was going to rip her a new one.

“Is Carissa going to be okay?” Jodan asked, looking back.

“She’ll be fine.” Spenser obviously did not want to discuss it.

“But is she trustworthy? She might speak to—”

“She’s as much an accomplice as you. She’s not conniving, but she isn’t stupid either. I don’t think she’s told anyone that she used to train with Prax and Meph at the Shield. She’s just a little sad that it’s come to this.” Mephisto’s death and Praxina declaring war to the Princess of Ephedia, Spenser meant to say.

“Carissa just needs a reminder that she is a knight of the Shield. This journey has been a real eyeopener for her.”

“She has never killed a man yet, has she?” Jodan guessed.

“No.”

“I don’t think she has the stomach for it.”

“Me neither.”

“Then why is she a knight of the Shield?”

“The Queen of Calyx.” Spenser gave no further explanation, making Jodan curious.

Jodan could smell cooking meat and spices in the air. Dinner was underway and first bowls of soup were being passed around. A lot more heads were being dipped respectfully in his direction. He bristled under the attention. It seemed that everyone had had a change of heart after finding out who he was.

One of the cooks spotted him and waved him over. Adnaïs was elderly woman, almost fifty years old, with short lime green hair that sometimes turned salt and pepper grey. She had said the wrong thing to the wrong people and that had landed her in Kroznak where she had been sentenced to work in the labour camps until she died. Most of the time, she rode in the wagons, a bad hip kept her from riding a horse or walking long distances. Jodan was pretty sure that the woman was a grandma because she sometimes mentioned her sons and their families but that might have been a long time ago or a self-inflicted delusion to keep her spirits up in Kroznak.

Adnaïs waved a finger, making a dozen bowls float in the air by her as she filled them with stew. A handful of other girls helped to pass out bread rolls and spoons to the people who lined up at the kitchen tent.

“How can I help?” Jodan asked. 

“Sit down and have some dinner, Prince Jodan,” she said offering him a steaming bowl to him and Spenser.

Jodan looked down the line of people, about twenty or so. “I’ll wait my turn like everyone else.”

“Please, don’t be so modest. You’re the—”

“I’m going to stop you there, Miss Adnaïs,” the young man interrupted. That drew everyone’s attention. “I know what you’re going to say and I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t want the special treatment. I didn’t need it before and I don’t need it now. I’ll eat later when everyone’s had theirs and I’m finished setting up camp for the night. Thank you.”

Jodan lowered his head respectfully to the older woman. Maybe the gesture was lost to the woman because she was from Borealis. He was not sure. The woman looked at him, a little disappointed but she nodded her head.

“I didn’t mean to disrespect you like that, Prince Jodan.”

“It’s alright, Miss Adnaïs.” He turned, walking away from the cooking area.

“What was that?” Spenser said as they walked away from the kitchen tent.

“I don’t know.” Jodan did know though. It was spreading through the camp followers like a plague. They wanted to acknowledged him as the Prince of Volta. They wanted to treat him as the Prince of Volta. Queen Laeticia had encouraged this nonsense. He could no long ignore the stares and questions in people’s eyes.

Jodan stopped and Spenser nearly crashed into him.

Ahead of them was the small tent city. They were colourful yurts of different sizes, bringing to mind the nomadic hunter tribes that had been the ancestors of Volta. They were painted with patterns and images bearing the royal Voltan emblem: a moon set against the roots of a tree.

Among the tents, in the far corner and erected over a plateau was a wide tent with a low peaked top. The yurt with was painted with subdue oranges, golds and whites. Several men and women were finishing hammering stakes into the ground. Jodan’s horse stood enclosed in a small pen made of crystals just beside the tent.

Jodan swallowed. That had been where he had dropped his stuff to set up for the night. Now a huge tent stood under the tree he planned to sleep under.

“I could’ve sworn that hadn’t been there an hour ago,” Spenser said, joking.

Jodan did not think it was funny. He was crossing the camp towards the tent, his heart crawling up his throat. Where was his stuff?

His chest was rising and falling when he finally got a close look of the tent. On a pole just beside the tent flap was a fluttering vertical orange banner that flew the emblem of the head of the royal family, the emblem of Queen Soraya, a Voltan moon encircled by flowers and berries, crowned with a coronet of moons and stars. Damn, if that sight did not want to make him cry. He knew without asking that this tent was meant for him, meant to rival Izira’s.

Itham, one of the older freedom fighters and all-around problem solver when it came to broken wagons, was the first to fall to his knee before Jodan. The others soon followed.

“Your Highness—”

“Itham, stop. What are you doing? Where did all of this come from?” Jodan pointed to the tent, as if it was not obvious already. A week ago, they had not had all this equipment. He had been seriously upgraded from his meagre tarp to this palatial bigtop without his knowledge or his consent.

“The Queen of Ephedia gave us all this, all in honour of you. We had no idea that you were a Voltan prince until we left the capital. I’m sorry about that. We thought it fitting to give you this tent. All your things are inside.”

Jodan exhaled loudly through his nose. He wanted to be upset but that would be ceding victory to that woman and whatever game she was playing. He ran a hand through his auburn hair. He could feel eyes on the back of his head. He turned and he saw almost all the labourers gathered behind him. The few children stood at the front and the adults in the back. They looked on to him expectantly. 

Not all of them were Voltan. There were quite a few Xerins from Izira’s camp and Calixans from Sir Hendriks’ and a dozen others from smaller nations that had ceded to the Empire a long time ago. 

“Itham, get off the ground. I can’t talk to you like this. Have some dignity.”

Jodan turned to the crowd. “I suppose now is a better time than ever,” he said to himself, or to Spenser. He was not sure.

He stepped up on a bench, using it as a stage.

Jodan pulled out his medallion from under his shirt and showed it to everybody. It warmed up against his touch, the Oracle gem glowing like the colours of a sunset. It was time to spill the true. Better to hear it from him than from someone else. “I haven’t been honest with who I am. I think some of you have already guessed. My name is Jodan. Like a lot of you, I escaped Kroznak. The thing that I did not mention was that I was born Prince Jodan, son of Queen Soraya, the thirty-third ruler of Volta. I am technically the next King of Volta and the next guardian of the Great Gaean tree.”

Jodan saw a lot of wide eyes and gasps. People started falling to their knees to kneel. He could not stop them anymore. 

The Voltans fell into the deepest bow, dropping to both their knees and lowering their heads to the ground in a kowtow.

“Praise the Gaean and the seven rivers of the Melzors from whom all blessings flow,” they whispered unanimously.

* * *

**Notes:** Back in chapter 1, Mephisto had a dream about him and Praxina learning about their mother being pregnant again and them asking a zillion questions. Finally, the younger Sidonay twins are here: Serafiel and Zachariah (Sera and Zach, for short).

That would mean that Prax and Meph are the older Sidonay twins. And that Sidonay is their family name.


	7. Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The past haunts Jodan and Carissa. Izira remembers how Xeris fell.

Two days had marched on ploddingly. Every setback delayed them. Jodan had stayed with the camp followers and they had accepted him eagerly as a prince, probably because he was not so imperious as Izira or intimidating as Hendrik. Jodan found it hard to imagine himself as a prince when half the time he was carrying his kills on his shoulders or firewood in his arms, covered in dirt, viscera and leaves, but the people wanted to call him a prince and there was no hiding his heritage now.

Jodan dropped a log on the growing pile of firewood and picked up an axe to break it into pieces before going back to the forest to scavenge for more with the others.

He stopped when he sensed that he was being followed. He turned and Luce stood there, axe balanced on his shoulder.

He was tall and lithe, handsome like a statue. Luce had chin-length jet black hair and violet eyes, standing at the same height as Jodan. He wore a plain white shirt tied at his side, dark pants and sandals. Just like the others, he wore a mid-length cloak over his shoulders, although not as nice as Jodan’s or Carissa’s. 

In Jodan’s opinion, the man could never pass off for a commoner. He was too clean and too clear-cut, like an already polished crystal, a little bit like Lord Dimitrius but not quite having the same Borealian features or long hair. He had a highborn accent to boot. Luce had arrived at Kroznak the same night Jodan had been dumped into a cell, stealthily inserted into their cellblock before the escape.

“Stop checking on me like I’m about to run away. I’m not Aurora,” Jodan said. The thought of his sister made him yearn for home. She was the one who always fought against their lifelong imprisonment in the Celestial Palace in Volta.

“‘Never said that.”

“You’re thinking about it. I can hear your thoughts from the other side of the camp.”

Luce dropped his axe to the ground and leant against a tree, crossing his arms. “What’s your grief with me, Ezra?”

“What’s yours?”

“I’m here to help you, not be your enemy. I want to go home just as much as you, but you and I have a job to do here.” A hand slipped out from behind his back, spinning sigil in hand. Luce cast an eavesdropping spell around them. Jodan followed up with a camouflage spell that encompassed both of them. They were well beyond reasonable walking distance for anyone from the camp to come across them.

“Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind for whom you side. You spent several unaccounted weeks on Earth and at some point you met the Princess of Ephedia and her loyalists. You tried to doublecross Sir Mephisto and Lady Praxina, as I’m told.”

“They used my sister as a hostage. You don’t know what happened on Earth,” Jodan growled.

“Enlighten me, Sir Ezra, or rather, _Prince Jodan_ , because Sir Mephisto’s dead and Lady Praxina’s gone rogue.”

Jodan’s jaw ticked. Something dark stabbed at his heart, grabbing it in a tight grip. Mephisto was dead. Saying it in his head did not get any easier. The boy who had risked everything to make sure he and Auriana reunited was gone. He had owed the boy a life debt.

Jodan straightened when a tower of white milky crystal burst forth from the earth between him and Luce. Dark power filled the air, sweet like temptation and darkness. It called to Jodan every single time.

Jodan saluted, pounding his fist to his chest as a blurry image appeared in the crystal facets. Luce did the same.

“General,” they both greeted with lowered heads. 

General Azrael’s shadowy form looked down on them, the crystal magnifying his image. His mere presence put Jodan on edge. Even with Gramorr dead, his generals were still at large.

“Report,” he commanded. The voice came out as a rumbly growl. Like most men from the realms beyond the empire’s borders, the general had shock white hair and a strong square jaw. Short hair brushed back and an imperious aquiline nose, his face was carved from granite. He was dressed in a heavy white double-breasted coat that fell to his thighs. It was lined with golden thread and splashes of blood red, looking like fiery runes.

Jodan told him of the plans to go to Andrak. He also told the general of several changing developments, including the royal decree that gave him back his title as Prince of Volta. Better to hear it from his mouth than from Luce’s or a messenger bird.

“And what about Princess Izira? What has she been up to in all this?”

Jodan looked up. “Izira sees me as a threat. I’m not firmly in her camp like Lyna or Carissa.”

“Has she exhibited any unusual behaviour?”

“She is sleepless and suffers nightmares. She wakes up in the middle of the night to walk around the camp, looking pale. It looks like she is suffering from mental trauma. From what exactly, I’m not sure.”

“Then find out and exploit it.”

Jodan looked up. “Sir?”

“Izira is the hope of going back to the way things were fifteen years ago, going back to the same corrupt monarchy that ordered Sir Jaylen’s murder and made Gramorr go mad with power. You have to nip it in the bud now before Izira gains support and legitimacy from the Calixans, especially from Princess Carissa or the Xerins.”

“I understand. And what about the Temple of Andrak?”

“Find what you can, clues about Gramorr’s death or the rest of his mask. I doubt the man would go down so easily after years of being trapped in that castle and I don’t think Praxina was his final escape plan.”

“Yessir.” Luce and Jodan saluted and watched the crystal disappear in a flash of energy and fire.

Both boys returned to the camp after collecting more firewood. Jodan grabbed a bowl of a stew and piece of stale bread from the cooks before settling at the fire in front of his tent. He noticed how almost everyone had disappeared to somewhere else or kept a distance from him. Something was up.

Itham joined him, sitting at the base of tree and lying back. He was greying at the temples and there many fine lines at the corner of his eyes from a lifetime of worry. He was scarred from head to toe, wearing them like the stripes of a tiger.

Jodan dipped his bread in his stew, soaking it for taste. “Something you want, old man?” He sensed that Itham was the reason that people were keeping their distance.

“I’m not that old, Prince Jodan,” he said wryly.

“I’m not really a prince either, but I call ‘em like I see ‘em,” Jodan said, imitating the man’s rural accent.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

“Tell you what?”

“Don’t be stupid with me. You walked into the throne room with fine clothes and that medallion on your chest, and you didn’t tell us that you were the dead son of Sir Jaylen and her Majesty this whole time. Where in klatznik have you been? How did you end up in Kroznak?” The man looked like he had hundreds of other questions, but he stopped at the most important ones.

“It’s not as simple as everyone thinks. I’m the firstborn child of Queen Soraya, but I’m not the Prince of Volta anymore.”

“It’s _your_ birthright. By the Melzors, I remember a whole month of celebratin’ your birthday in Cassia. The Great Gaean bore all seven sacred fruits for days on end. Honey wine and moon cakes were served at all the temples. People came from every corner of the country to leave prayers for you at the roots of the Gaean. The country used to be at peace then.”

Jodan sat back and listened. He remembered the moon cakes that they used to serve in teahouses along the Way of Light. There was one place in particular they always stopped at that had thick cakes with gooey fruit jelly. It had long since been shuttered due to the war. His mouth watered at the memory. 

“It’s not as easy as having the Queen of Ephedia suddenly acknowledging me. The Voltan Throne isn’t just something to inherit. There are rites, trials…things to learn. I was going to start training until my father…passed away. Things were crazy. People were trying to kill me and then Aulus was marching his army up to Volta while Gramorr bore down from the Erebus. My mother faked the news of my death and sent me away.”

“Your father—”

“I am not talking about my father.” Jodan stopped the man and left no room for debate. He got up, wanting an exit from the conversation, and went to prepare a kettle of water.

He went into his tent and found some dried fruits and a ration of tea leaves, pretending to be busy. Itham hovered around him.

“I don’t mean to pry like that,” the older man said by way of apology.

Jodan rose to his full height and faced the man. “What are you expecting from me, Itham? I wasn’t raised in secret by loyalists to one day overthrow Gramorr. I’m trying to survive like everyone else, so get off my back. I don’t have any damn miracles up my sleeves to fix Volta and send Gramorr’s army away.”

Itham stepped back from him, away from a confrontation with the tall boy. Jodan was a fighter and had proved it many times already.

“Stop,” Jodan rumbled. “Whatever you and the others think you’re doing, stop it.”

Jodan removed the kettle from the fire and dumped a measure of tisane with chunks of fruit in the pot. The boy turned and found the older man on his knees, this time, head lowered to the ground, kowtowing, the highest gesture of respect. Kneeling was for knights in clanky armour, kowtowing was for people who professed the deepest respect or fear.

“Get off the ground, Itham,” he snapped.

“Prince Jodan, hear me out,” the man said. “I am Sir Itham Corvine and I am a former knight of the Company of Black Arrows.”

The man rolled up his sleeve up a scarred arm, revealing an arrow tattoo, part of the skin scarred by an iron brand. He could still make out the words that his father always told him. “Death before dishonour.”

Jodan straightened his expression after picking up his jaw off the ground. A Black Arrow. Not just any ranger, a ranger that had been directly under his father’s command. 

“I swore an oath.” Itham lowered his gaze. “And I failed. Sir Jaylen fought to the very end. I didn’t. I ran away when I saw that the fight was hopeless.”

“So what do you want from me? A royal pardon? A position in my new regime?”

“No, I want to take back Volta for you and my countrymen. The future looked so fucking bleak until you told us who you were yesterday. I only joined the Resistance because I did not want to die in a hole in Kroznak. At least, I would die trying to fight for something I believed in. Now, you’re here and there’s hope that we could actually go home.”

“I have no reason to trust anything you say. You were a highway bandit before you were sent to Kroznak. Why reveal yourself now after weeks of travelling with the Shield and the Xerins?”

Itham looked him dead in the eye. “Bandits don’t get sent to Kroznak, your Royal Highness. They get their hands or their heads chopped off.”

Itham was right. Jodan knew the letter of the law thanks to being General Azrael and Gramorr’s agent, but he pretended otherwise.

“Us loyalists spent years trying to rescue your mother from General Azrael, but every single time, she refused to leave. That bastard still has her at the Celestial Palace. It’s a sign that you came back to us, my prince. Before we left the capital, the Queen of Ephedia had told us that you had brought the arbor vitae back to life. That magic belongs to the royal family of Volta and that means that you are meant for that throne, not your sisters.”

Jodan placed a hand on one hip. His heart wanted to hope, but his head knew better. It was way too convenient that a Black Arrow would show up to him. Heck, he had just pulled the same stunt a few days ago on everyone else. Even he had to admit that it was a little incredulous that the Prince of Volta had been under their noses the whole time. 

“I don’t believe you, Itham.”

“I understand.” The man rose up and fidgeted in his spot. “Maybe my words aren’t enough, but I’ll prove it to you with my actions. I’m going to protect you with my life until I see you on that throne. I vow you that I won’t fail you or your family again.”

The man left Jodan alone at the fire. The Voltan prince poured himself a cup of tea, wishing he had something stronger.

“Fuck,” Jodan swore quietly. 

000000

Carissa was always the first to wake up between her and Lyna. She breathed in the cold air and threw off the covers. She brushed her hair, braided it and dressed, throwing a log into fire pit in the middle of their tent for Lyna. The Borealian princess was still not used to the colder clime of the main continent and the air was getting chillier as the weeks marched on.

The Calixan princess loved the silence of a still sleeping camp. There was a little bit of the mist hanging over them. It was peaceful and she could do her stretches without anyone interrupting her. She started her workout, opting for various body stretches and rolling the kinks out of her. She still felt like a hurley beast had trampled her, even though it had been days since she called on her shanila in Andrak.

Jodan was already doing his forms. His fighting style was not as heavy-handed like the Sir Hendrik or the other knights that wore full armour in battle. He rose, he sunk, he pushed, he pulled, he breathed, he flowed. There was no rush, no violence in his movement, only tranquility.

Most of Voltans in their Resistance were not warriors or bandits like Jodan or Itham. They had survived by being domestics and labourers. They worshipped the arbor vitaes spread throughout the empire and assured the good harvest through magic and prayer. The taste of Carissa’s meals had greatly improved when the old lady Adnaïs and the Voltans cooked. The porridge was not so watery and tasteless in the mornings now.

Carissa fell into push-ups right alongside Jodan. She gave up after a hundred and collapsed, rolling over. She stared listlessly at the sky. To be honest, she was still shaken over the fight at Andrak and she dreaded going back.

The camp was starting to come alive and breakfast was being passed around. Her mouth watered when she caught wind of glazed nuts and baked spiced apples.

“I’ll get you some too,” she told Jodan.

She lined up and filled two bowls with porridge and tried to be modest about shovelling slices of baked apple in her bowl.

“You sure you got enough there?”

Carissa jumped at the sound of Spenser’s voice behind her and turned red, feeling like she was being rude and taking more than her fair share. Spenser reached around her for one of the bowls and began topping it with berries and cream. She made a bowl for Jodan, remembering what he liked and ignoring most of Spenser’s suggestion.

“I’m not putting a hard boiled egg in it,” she snapped, shaking her head at his early morning antics.

“What’s got you work up?” He gave her a dazzling smile and it failed to lift her spirits. “Hey, what’s going on?” he said seriously. 

“I’m just worried about a lot of things.”

“Is it because of Sir Hendrik chewing you out?”

“It’s a lot of things.” Carissa looked around. There were too many people around to listen. She picked up some fruits and went back.

“If I’ve upset you, you have to tell me. I can’t read your mind.” Spenser fell into step beside her, arms laden with food. “Is it because of what I said a few days ago?”

“This whole journey, Earth, Izira, Lyna…”

“No one said it would be easy, no one expected that Princess Iris would be alive.”

“I know.”

“No one said that we would come back alive either but you flew up to Andrak and went toe to toe with Gramorr.”

Carissa shuddered at the memory. “That…that wasn’t how that happened. I was really scared. I thought that I was going to die.”

“Then why did you go up the mountain? Lyna was shaking like a leaf. She didn’t want to go, but you, you were determined. You weren’t scared. You were thundering for a fight like a real Shield.”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

Spenser cut her off with a hand. “You had a choice. You could have ran away, but you climbed up that mountain and chose to fight Gramorr. You knew that and you took the risks anyways. Unlike the rest of us, you have imperial blood in you. Next to Princess Iris, you were the only one who could have stood up to Gramorr.”

“I didn’t do anything! I dropped in in the middle of a fight and…dammit, I don’t even remember what happened, because it happened so fast! And Mephisto…I didn’t want him to die. He didn’t deserve that,” she said quietly.

“Cut that shit out, Carissa. You can’t feel start feeling bad for your enemies or else it will never end. Mephisto was a warrior and he chose a side, just like you. Death is a part of this job. You know that.” Spenser knocked his knuckles against Carissa’s armlet, reminding her of her duties

“Someone has to tell his father in Erebus though.”

“And what do you think will happen if you do? You’ll make Erebus your sister’s enemy, if they aren’t already.”

“Mephisto deserves at least that much. He accompanied me to my first cotillion dance and he was so good about going to the ball as friends and having a good time. He fought off every guy that tried to propose to me.” She spoke quietly, scared to accept that Mephisto had changed. “It’s just hard to believe that he’d been working for Gramorr the whole time.”

“You’re glorifying your memory of him. You want him to be better than you think he was, Carissa.” Spenser shook his head in disbelief. “He _crashed_ the Ball of Roses. He literally crashed through the ceiling on the back of a dragon and Praxina cut down a whole brigade of knights before they delivered Gramorr’s threat to all of Calyx. And then your sister—”

“I know,” she replied. She did not want to remember her sister or home.

“Look, no one here knows that you were good friends with Mephisto, except for Sir Hendrik and some of the other guys. Just keep quiet about it or else people are going to think you’re a traitor. Forget that it even happened. So smile for me, beautiful, ‘cause we’ve got a long day ahead.”

Carissa nodded and put on a smile. It was not her best, but it was enough for Spenser to let go of the subject. After everything that had happened, it seemed too surreal to be back on the road again, but it was not the same. Carissa was not going to find Mephisto on Earth acting like a moron and holding his sister back from really hurting her or the other princesses.

The two Calixans found Jodan sharpening his arrowheads. The boys ate and talked shop, discussing the road ahead of them. 

000000

There was no name for the hell in Izira’s mind. Klatznik was too kind a word. When she fell prey to the darkness behind her eyelids, she could only scream in her mind. And there it was again, the feeling crawling up her spine. The beginning of another nightmarish torture. 

She found herself standing at the silver gates of her father’s castle. The gates closed without a sound as a small dark form scurried off on short dark legs, pale blue locks spilling out of the hood.

She knew instantly where she was and when: the night Xeris fell.

Izira threw itself at the gates and reached through the bars for the little girl’s cloak.

“Talia!” she screamed hoarsely. “Talia, get back here! Talia!”

The little continued on into the darkness beyond the edges of the nightmare. She was swallowed up in black and red flames and became a pile of ashes and gems.

“Talia!” Izira collapsed against the gate, shaking and sobbing. “No, no, no, please stop! I don’t want to relive this again,” she cried out to dark sky above.

She knew that there was no one to hear her prayers. The gods of Xeris had forsaken her a long time ago.

She was sixteen years old again and it was dead silent in the gardens, not even the sound of cicadas or the wind. 

“Izira, what are you doing out here? It’s nearly midnight.”

The white-haired princess hesitated. She did not want to turn, but she had no choice. The memory would not continue unless she moved.

She took in a shaky breath and pulled herself up to face the voice behind her. She was blinded by the memory of her father. It had been years since she had dreamt of him.

The man was tall and lithe, standing over her easily. His hair was white as snow and long, pulled back into a high ponytail with a thin braid at the side of his face. His eyes were a rare shade of violet, the colour of bright beautyberries, and there was a fresh pink scar on his dark cheek.

Izira ran into his arms and buried her face in his chest. She wrapped her arms around him tight and wished that she would never let go.

The image of her father did not respond. He would not. He was just a figment of her imagination. 

Instead, he turned around and gestured for her to follow him. He had long since put away his crown in deference to the late hour. He wore a dark sleeveless shirt and loose pants tucked into boots and greaves. He held a spear in one hand that had a blue crystal tip.

He had been training late into the night, skin glistening with sweat, clearly troubled by something, usually a magical formula or mathematical problem. These days, it was the encroaching forces from the north and Gramorr’s growing power inside the Imperial Castle.

“You shouldn’t have let her go, Izira,” her father said. “It’s too dangerous now. What are you gonna do if you don’t have your medallion?”

He paused. Izira remembered that at the time she had said something about Talia not listening to her because she was not Mother.

“That’s not an excuse, Izira. That medallion may have wards and spells that will protect her but she doesn’t know how to us it to its full potential.” The man turned to a guard standing in the shadows and signalled him over. After a few words, the guard disappeared into the night to follow Talia into the city.

“What are you going to do if something happens to me or the queen? You’ll be all that Talia has,” he admonished.

Izira shivered, feeling the weight of responsibility fall on her shoulders. She had failed her father in this regard ten years ago. 

She followed him to a secluded water garden. The trees were illuminated with crystalline light, shining bright under the blue moon. The dark half of the year was upon them. There was a gazebo with fluttering sheer curtains and a table and a set of chairs within.

The princess sat down and cleared away the dozens of books out of habit. Talia’s handwriting practice sheets were scattered all over the table and Izira tried to put them in neat stacks, looking at them and remembering better times. She could see when Talia had lost interest in her lessons and had started doodling animals and people. 

“Stop that, Izira,” her father said. She jumped in her seat. He sat across from her and she drank in his face. 

Izira hunched her shoulders. She knew what was coming. She had lived it once and she did not want to relive hearing her father’s last words.

“Gramorr is getting stronger. He’s going to make his move soon.” 

The princess tensed up. Her eyes watered. She remembered that she had been angry at her father for all sorts of meaningless things, like why she could not marry the boy of her dreams or why she had to learn so many ugly combat spells. 

“I know things haven’t been easier with all the training I’ve been giving you for the last six years. I’ve pushed you harder than I’ve pushed my own soldiers and people are expecting great things from you, but there’s a reason.” The king reached across the table and pulled her dainty hands into his. “I’m pushing you so that you’ll survive whatever Gramorr throws at Xeris. Your life and your sister’s are the most important things to me, no matter what happens to our kingdom. Gramorr could burn this castle to ground, but I want you and your sister to survive.”

Izira let out a cry as tears fell down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for everything, Father,” she said to herself.

Her father continued speaking, having never heard her. “I don’t care about the country. There’ll always be another noble family to try and dethrone you. I’m speaking to you as your father, not your king. No father wants to outlive their children. Since the day you were born, I’ve wondered if I was going to lose you. Will I outlive you? Will I have to bury you? I don’t want any of that to happen. Everything I’ve done has been to prepare for whatever awaits after Gramorr comes for me. There might not even be a Xeris tomorrow.”

She winced at the harshness of his words and how true they were. Izira realized now what her father had meant. She tried to memorize his words, his voice, tried to use them to strengthen her spirit. She would not fail him a second time. Talia was still alive. Xeris was not completely lost.

“I need you to be tough, but you can’t be a tyrant, Izira. You have to earn people’s respect through your own merit, not your lineage. Outside of Xeris, your blood means nothing.”

Izira knew what came after. The explosion that signalled Gramorr’s arrival. The magic bubble barrier around their home came down, crashing like glass and clattering against the roof of the gazebo. The king rose up, lightning fast, as guards closed in on him from all directions.

“It’s Gramorr, my king,” one of the guards said. “He’s breached the castle.”

“And the queen?”

“The Lord Protector has gone to secure her.”

Her father looked at her regretfully and pulled her into a hug. One last hug. The man knew that he was going to die. “I love you, Izira. Don’t forget that. If anything happens, you have to take care of Talia.”

Izira watched everything like a spectator. She no longer had the adrenaline pumping through her like ten years ago. She wanted to stay with her father but the memory would not let her. A guard grabbed her by the arm, dragged her away and brought her to the stables where squires were already saddling mounts. A spire of black crystal broke through the wall, spooking the horses.

Someone tossed her onto her horse. Four knights were already saddled up and ready to ride. The barn doors opened up and they sped out into the night.

She knew the way, but she would never make it to the east gate. A flash of something circular and cerulean flew over Izira’s head and two of her guards were knocked off their saddles, gushing blood onto the stone path. The horses screamed and dragged their riders up the path, their metal armour screeching against the stone. Up ahead, the east gate had been blocked off by a formation of teal crystal. Their exit was gone. 

A man in a white uniform and wide flowing sleeves stood in front of the barrier, a long curved sword in one hand. A knight from the Order of Black and White. He caught a flying chakram in his other hand. In an instant, Izira was kicked off her horse into the bushes as the assailant dashed forward and sliced the beast’s legs.

There was some shouts, the clanging of metal and shattering of crystal and the pitched cries of horses being slaughtered. Izira scrambled to her feet and ran through the bramble to find her knights dead.

The assailant stood over the dead knights, kicking them over and stabbing them dead in the chest. Izira knew who he was. Gramorr’s green assassin, the once noble Prince of Borealis, Lord Dimitrius, a man who killed with swift efficiency and no remorse. He came to stand over her and his blade glistening with blood.

“It’s unfortunate that we’ve met under these circumstances, Princess Izira,” Lord Dimitrius said as he took a fighting stance.

Ten years ago, she had fought the best she could against the Borealian traitor but he had won that bout and dragged her kicking and screaming by the hair to Gramorr’s forces at the castle gates. Even in her dreams, she could not change the course of events. She was helpless to watch as Dimitrius brought her to Gramorr.

The castle was destroyed by fire and black crystal. Banes stalked and prowled, snapping the spines and skulls of any Xerins that put up a fight with his mighty jaw. A few maidservants were huddled in the corner and recoiled when the demon snarled at them. They were glassy-eyed and deathly quiet, afraid of the covered form that was several meters away from them—a body. It wore her mother’s nightgown.

Izira escaped Dimitrius and ran to her mother’s body. She ripped off the cover and screamed at the sight of her mother’s listless golden gaze. “Please, not again!” the white-haired princess shouted to the sky. “Please, please, please, please, _please_ …I want to wake up. I don’t want to watch them die. In the name of the Melzors, the Oracle Throne, the gods of Xeris, anyone…”

She hugged her mother tight to her chest. She was wracked with grief, unable to move. The shock of death had not been easy the first time and it was no easier in her dreams. There were no goodbyes.

The dream dragged her away from her mother as the battle between her father and Gramorr continued.

The front lawn was decimated. The castle had become a battlefield littered with blue and black crystal. 

The king crashed to the ground right beside Izira, the blue fire of shanila disappearing all around him. He coughed up blood and pressed on an open wound in his side. Gramorr’s sword had cut deep into the flesh and no amount of magic could save him. 

The sight of his wounds and the blood spurting from everywhere had her frozen. His head lolled to the side and his violet eyes fell on her. “Izira, I’m sorry it has to be like this. I love you and Talia so much. And so does your mother. Don’t forget that. Everything will be alright.”

Izira trembled. She wanted to close her eyes to the horrific sight but no force on Ephedia would let her.

Her father wiped his bloody hand on his pants and grasped her hand, pulling her close.

She remembered begging for him to keep his eyes open. There was no begging now. Whatever horrible torture her mind or Gramorr had concocted had her trapped in the memory. This was much worst than the interminable darkness of the pit in Kroznak.

“I have one last thing to teach you, Izira my darling,” he whispered into her ear, his voice softening and becoming faint. She placed a kiss on his head and held his hand tight. 

Izira huddled over him, wishing she could have taken his pain away, eased his suffering. Years after years wondering and remembering, thinking of how things could have been different if she had had her medallion. She let out a sorrowful cry, screamed all her pain out, trying to drown out her father’s feeble attempts at breathing. She had no more tears, only rage and anger, sadness and regret.

“My last lesson. An important spell that belongs to our family—” His words soon turn to gibberish as death started to overcome him. His breathing came out in jittering bouts. _“Crysta—”_

She cradled his head to her chest and wished he would stop speaking, wished he would die peacefully.

_“—morsis.”_

“I love you,” she whispered to his forehead. “I’m never going to let this happen again.”

Gramorr stood over her and her father, about to strike the King of Xeris dead and maybe even her.

_“Never again, Gramorr!”_ Izira shrieked. Suddenly, blue flames erupted around her and the Medallion of Xeris appeared in her hand. She blasted Gramorr out of existence and her dream turned to white.

000000

Outside, Izira’s tent went up in a ball of blue flames, raising the alarm throughout the whole camp as dark crystal erupted from the ground. Carissa dropped her bowl of porridge and bolted for Izira’s tent, gathering her magic. 

She conjured her clubs and banged them on the nearest crystal slab, a power resonating sound waking up the whole camp. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment of what you liked or didn't liked!


	8. Never Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izira loses control and Carissa, Spenser, Jodan and Lyna try to put out the fires.

Carissa felt her magic flow through her like electricity. Her red hair lengthened and turned violet. Her armband glowed and wrapped her in hot energy. It felt good to be back in action, to be powerful, to be invincible.

Lyna and Spenser flanked her, both of them having transformed. Spenser’s red hair had become a shade of dark violet. Lyna was already airborne and casting a spell. Water from the gurgling river rose up like a wall and rolled through the encampment, drenching everything.

The blue fire spread out from Izira’s tent eating up the earth and trees, but not even the water could put out the flames.

“The fire isn’t dying,” Lyna said as she tried another water spell.

“Forget the fire, we have to get Izira first,” Spenser said. “Lyna, go find her and make sure she’s safe.”

Lyna made a face, put off by Spenser’s tone, but Spenser did not give a shit about her royal airs. It would have been funny to Carissa if there was not an attack happening at that very moment.

“Carissa, with me. We’re going to stop this fire from spreading.”

The Calixan princess nodded and faced him, crossing her clubs on the floor. Spenser fell to a knee and stabbed the ground with his rapier. A Calixan convergence circle lit up the grass, their personal sigils spinning under their feet.

_“Crystal menilis!”_ they said together, their lips matching.

Slabs of varying shades of purple rose out of the earth, perfectly cut and interlocking. The crystal wall surrounded the whole area, effectively sealing the fire from spreading but also trapping them inside.

Carissa and Spenser turned around, standing back to back and taking in their surroundings. They looked for an assailant or the source of the fire.

The heat was searing and smoke billowed in Carissa’s face. “This isn’t a normal fire.”

“What gave it away? The fact that it’s blue and not red?” he said drily. “It’s certainly not Gramorr. Praxina maybe?”

The idea sent a shiver up Carissa’s spine. She did not think she could face Mephisto’s sister. “I hope not. It’s magical fire and it blew up near Izira’s tent. It can’t be a coincidence.”

They leapt through the flames towards Izira’s tent. It was a burning pyre with flames reaching up to the sky. 

Lyna caught up with them. “I got as many people out of here as possible, but I can’t find Izira. Did you see her come out of her tent this morning?”

Carissa shook her head.

“If she’s anything like the rumours, then a little fire won’t kill her,” Spenser said.

Izira’s tent started to collapse on itself in an explosion of crackles and pops. Izira lied in the middle of the burning wreckage covered in a cloud of magic. She struggled in her sleep and clutched the Medallion of Xeris to her chest with both hands. Her whole body was on fire.

“Izira, wake up!” Carissa shouted.

“I’ll do it,” Lyna volunteered. She flew up into the sky and weaved through the flames to get to the Xerin princess.Without hesitation, she reached into the fires to grab Izira and shake her. She yelped after a few seconds when the heat registered. 

She flew out of the fires to catch her breath for a moment and dove back again. This time she grabbed Izira’s medallion, trying to wrench it from her deathly vice.

Except Izira did not let go. 

The white-haired princess opened her eyes, looked up listlessly. A deathly silence fell upon Lyna. In the next moment, Lyna found herself blasted two miles up on into the sky and the feeling of freefall in her stomach—the one thing she never wanted to fell when she was flying. 

Suddenly, she saw the whole expanse of the forest and the mountains around her and the ground was steadily getting closer and closer at an alarming rate. The wind had been knocked out of her and she had no more breath to whisper magic words. She could not even scream in terror. She had lost control, the one thing she hated when it came to magic.

Her body sped towards the earth at breakneck speed. She was a speck in the sky and no one would even know how to find her on the ground. She always knew that one of her spells would backfire on her and cause her death. 

She resigned herself to whatever came next and fainted.

_“Crystal slucium!”_

Her body hit a long winding slide made of green crystal. It slowed down her terminal velocity until her body hit the forest floor with a soft thud.

A hooded figure stepped out from the shadows and disintegrated the crystal slide.

000000

Carissa and Spenser were flattened by the wave of power that rolled over them. The Calixan princess struggled to her feet. Her eyes grew wide.

Izira glowed with the blue fires of shanila. She floated in the air, looking like a Xerin goddess come to wreak vengeance. Her eyes were open but they were devoid of love and mercy. 

Spenser rolled to his feet and summoned a protective crystal barrier. He pulled Carissa behind it.

“We have to get the medallion out of her hand. She’s trapped inside a power trance,” he said. “We both know that Izira has some real issues when it comes to sleeping at night, but has she ever used magic like this?”

“She just got back her medallion from the Queen of Ephedia. I don’t know.”

“And whose brilliant idea was it to let Izira keep something so powerful? It can literally annihilate armies and level mountains.” Spenser shook his head.

“I could use my shanila—”

“No, not a chance!” Spenser shot her idea down and shouted way too loudly in Carissa’s face. He grabbed her arm in a vice grip before she got foolish and ran off. “There are so many things wrong with that plan. I am not letting two shanila-powered princesses have a cage match in the middle of nowhere. You’ll kill us all.”

“Then what do you think we should do?” she argued.

Spenser looked around the corner. Izira floated in the air, still in her trance. It would have been a beautiful sight if everything had not been on fire. She held her medallion to her heart and her head hung low. He ran a multitude of scenarios through his head, none of them ended well. 

As much as shanila was an important step in any budding sorcerer or sorceress magic training, it was also the thing most likely to kill them.

Carissa saw the wheels spinning in the man’s mind. More than once Spenser had been part of an execution squad that ended the life of a sorcerer. “Spenser, you can’t kill her. She’s the Princess of Xeris.”

“She also has no control over her powers. It’s either her or us, Carissa. We’re not at the academy and we don’t have a Circle of Morgaine to contain her until she cools down.”

“Let me try to talk to her first, alright?”

Indecision was written all over his face. “Fine, but if she doesn’t calm down, we’ll have to resort to drastic measures.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.”

Carissa rolled out of cover and flinched at the heat that assaulted her. She created a amethyst pane and flew up to Izira. The woman was surrounded by an intense magical aura but it was nothing like Gramorr’s.

“Izira,” she called out. “It’s me, Princess Carissa of Calyx. Can you hear me?”

Izira did not answer, but her lips were moving, mumbling. 

“Never again,” Izira chanted.

“Izira?”

“Never again, never again…”

The Xerin held up the medallion and aimed it at the Calixan. Her eyes were pale blue like her hair and they glistened with tears.

“Izira, it’s Carissa. I’m right here—”

_“Never again, Gramorr!”_

Carissa’s blood turned to ice. Energy gathered in the medallion’s gem. She flinched, holding up her clubs and throwing up a hasty shield. She was blinded by the blast and knocked off her crystal pane by the backdraft. She fell hard into Spenser’s arms, making him land on his ass.

The knight took the brunt of her fall and despite their tangled limbs, he rolled over her to protect her from Izira’s blast. They were crushed into the ground, Spenser’s body weighting down on her but protecting her from the worst.

A flash of orange streaked across Carissa’s vision. _“Crystarmum!”_

White-hot energy exploded from Izira’s medallion and collided into an orange shield, diffusing the magic into several directions and ringing across the valley. Carissa looked over Spenser’s side and thought for a second that Auriana was nearby.

Jodan stood on the menilis wall, his hair now bright orange and magic circles glowing in his hands.

He pulled his bow off his shoulder and drew an arrow from a hip quiver. Carissa blinked andheard the bowstring snap three times.

The first arrow knocked the medallion out of the princess’ hands. The second pinned her right hand to her side. The third landed in her shoulder.

Izira let out a silent wail but the magic of her shanila faded away as she finally came to. The pain of the arrows embedded deep in her flesh had awoken her out of her trance.

The fire that had consumed everything disappeared in an instant, but the earth was still cracked and charred.

A whole brigade of knights lined the top of wall. They watched, with their weapons drawn to see what Izira would do next. The woman let out inhuman screams, cursing Gramorr’s name over and over. Her body dropped unceremoniously to the ground and everything grew quiet and still.

Someone disintegrated the protective wall that circled Izira’s camp and knights of Lady Morgaine’s Shield rushed in, putting out the remaining embers.

Jodan followed in after the knights. He stoppedto pick up an arrow that had ricochetted off Izira’s medallion. The medallion’s sapphire glimmered underneath a layer of caked dirt.

Sir Hendrik stood beside the younger man. There was no exchange of words. Jodan rose and clenched the medallion tightly. Its power tried to burn him, reacting to his own medallion under his shirt. He scowled at the troublesome thing. Wars had been fought for this trinket. Dark orange crystal iced over the disc, sealing it in a bubble. He shoved the artifact into Sir Hendrik’s hand and ran to help Carissa with Spenser.

Carissa tried to push Spenser off of her, but the knight was not moving. She panicked and tried to get a look at his face. His eyes were fluttering behind his eyelids and his breathing was faint. “Spenser, hey, wake up! Spenser!” 

Jodan ran over, hearing Carissa’s panicked scream, and rolled the older boy off her. They both breathed a sigh of relief when the knight shouted in pain. 

Jodan helped him up and Carissa rushed over to should some of Spenser’s weight, thanking the eight gods of Calyx that they had survived.

000000

The camp was in disarray. As soon as all the fires had been put out, people ran to salvage whatever they could—which was not much. No one questioned what had happened, not yet anyways.

Izira was spirited away to another tent where several Xerin healers attended to her wounds. Jodan felt no remorse when he saw them carry her away with two arrows embedded in her. Jodan and Carissa hefted Spenser to the man’s tent and dropped him on his bed.

Spenser groaned, scrunching his eyes. His violet hair turned back to orange and his magic armour faded away. 

The adrenaline was wearing off and the Calixan knight started swearing up a storm. Without his magic, the pain of his wounds were brought to the forefront and they hurt like a motherfucker. Spenser eased his shirt up. It was shredded but the skin was already turning red underneath. The knight swore when he was unable to lift his armsabove his shoulders.

“Turn around,” Jodan said as he helped him remove the shirt. 

Carissa had gone to fetch some rags and refill the basin with clean water. She returned and stopped at the entrance of the tent. “Oh good gods, Spenser,” she gasped.

“At least it was not my pretty face.”

“It’s not funny! You’re seriously hurt.” Carissa dropped the basin on a side table. She used a spell to turn the water cold and started dabbing at the red skin and welts appearing all over his back. 

“Just trying to add some levity to the situation.”

“I’m sorry. This was my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t. Nothing that happened today was your fault, Carissa,” he reassured.

“I should have listened to you—”

“Look, Carissa, I can do this myself. Go find Lyna and make sure she isn’t hurt.”

“But—!”

“Go!” Spenser rumbled with more authority.

Carissa rose reluctantly and left. Spenser threw a whole towel in the icy cold water and threw it over his back. He cursed and hissed, tears appearing at the corner of his eyes, but he took it in stride.

“You going to be alright?” Jodan asked. It was a stupid question considering the seriousness of Spenser’s wounds. They were not burns from the fires, they were magical in nature, from Izira’s powerful energy blast. They were especially severe because of the dark nature of Spenser’s magic. They would not heal easily.

“I’ll get a healer to look at it.”

“You better, and fast.”

“Just go help Carissa. Lyna got blasted somewhere. I have no idea where. Hopefully, she’s not dead in a ditch or something.”

“I’ll find her. I’ll send someone to look after you.”

Spenser wanted to protest but Jodan exited the tent and did exactly as he promised, sending for a level-headed woman from the camp followers to look after the knight. He changed his clothes and found Carissa in her tent. He knocked on a wooden beam to announce his entrance.

The girl was still like a rock except for the sharp rise and fall of her chest. She had barely walked two or three steps into her tent. Her gloved hands were clenched around a grey trinket, a magic lucky charm probably.

“Spenser’s going to be okay, right?” she asked. Her eyes were wide and glossy, like she was about to cry.

“They’re not as bad as they look. He has magic. If he rides the wagons for a few days, he should heal up. I’m sure he’s had worst.”

Jodan never knew Carissa as one to show anything but strength and confidence. Right now, she was looking at her toes, her shoulders low. She had been like that ever since she had come back from Andrak and Praxina had declared war on Earth.

“This is all my fault.”

“How so?”

“I thought I could talk Izira down from whatever she was doing.”

“Because she’s Izira?”

“No, because…because I thought I could calm her down.”

“Izira couldn’t even fight in the final fight against Gramorr and now she has her medallion, one of the most powerful relics ever forged from an Oracle gem. There was no way she had any control over. You would think that with Gramorr dead, she would sleep easier. What Izira is going through is not going to be fixed overnight. Like Spenser said, it’s not your fault. You did what you thought was best.”

Carissa exhaled. Jodan’s explanation rolled over her like a cool balm. She did not look convinced, but she look calm and collected, less like a skittish dear. “We have to find Lyna,” she said. “She hasn’t made it back and I’m getting worried. Can you do a locator spell with me?”

“Only if you have something that belongs to her.”

Carissa gestured to Lyna’s side of the tent, saying a wordless _obviously_. Jodan cracked a smile, looking a little bit like Auriana with his green eyes and auburn hair. The Calixan grabbed one of Lyna’s many jewelled hairpins and met the Voltan outside.

She placed the between their feet. “Crystal locatum?”

They clasped hands and it took them a few minutes to time it right. A convergence circle popped up under their feet, glowing with their personal sigilla. A few people stopped to stare in surprise.

_“Crystal locatum!”_

A yellow orb rose from the earth and raced into the forest. They ran after it, leaping into the tree tops and following it on the crystal pathways that wound around the trees. 

The yellow light dipped low to the forest floor and disappeared, having done its job.

They slid to a halt and came face to face with a hooded figure carrying Lyna on his back. Carissa was the first to react, her clubs in her hands threatening violence.

“Who are you?” Carissa said. It was more a command than a request.

“Carissa, calm down.” Jodan raised a hand to stop her. “He isn’t a bandit. He’s one of our own. Look at him, he’s wearing a Resistance cloak.”

“You know him?”

“He’s a camp labourer. Luce, right?” he turned Luce, silently telling him to play along. “Just put the clubs down. He wasn’t going to do anything to her.” 

That seemed to alleviate Carissa’s concerns, but not Jodan’s. The forest was vast and Luce had found Lyna? It was too convenient. 

“My name is Luce, your Highnesses,” he said, lowering his head while struggling to keep Lyna on his back. Finally, he put Lyna down on the ground. Lyna groaned.

“I was trailing a buck when I found her tumbling through the trees and crashed into the ground. I recognised her as one of Izira’s ladies and thought I’d help out. She’s out of it.”

“Is she hurt?” Jodan asked Luce while Carissa ran over and fretted over Lyna.

“Nothing broken that I could tell.”

Lyna had a bunch of cuts and some bruises that would turn blue later, but nothing life-threatening. It took over an hour to get back to the camp and put Lyna in her bed where a healer attended to her wounds.

Jodan watched Carissa stand idly in the corner of tent. She was unable to look at the healers who were clucking their tongues at all the scars and stitches that Lyna was going to get and how it marred her otherwise perfect skin. When they pulled out a needle over a fire, Carissa turned away guiltily and started to cry.

000000

Spenser was facedown on his bed, complaining about the tingling sensation of the blue salve the healers had put on his back. The salve had a few magical ingredients that sped up his healing and dulled the pain, but Jodan suspected he was complaining for the sake of having something to do. Jodan sat on the carpeted floor cutting fletching for arrows and getting an earful of Spenser’s whining.

Hendrik had already heard Spenser, Jodan and Carissa’s side of the events and pieced together the chain of events. Izira’s powers had manifested themselves during her sleep, resulting in this morning’s disaster. It was worst than learning that no one was attacking them. Only a handful from the Xerin camp and the Shield knights knew what had really happened. No one had died, but tensions were high in the camp.

It was late and the sun was setting when Sir Hendrik stepped into Spenser’s tent. Carissa followed in behind him and she looked like crap. Her eyes were red and her face was splotchy from a recent bout of crying.

Spenser forced himself up, wincing, and moved over as Carissa sat down on the edge of his bed.

Sir Hendrik stared at the three warriors. They were all young. Jodan was twenty, Spenser nineteen and Carissa a tender fifteen. They were all still children in Hendrik’s eyes but he knew that they had all grown up too fast in a world that was too cruel for children.

“Prepare to leave for Andrak. As soon as night falls, you three are gone.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things happened, but finally, they're going to Andrak! (But not without a couple of obstacles!)


	9. Shanila Magna Ceremonia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jodan, Carissa and Spenser leave for Andrak under the cover of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, this chapter is over 10 000 words! At first, this would have been multiple chapters and I had planned things to go differently. It just kept longer and longer and derailed by all sorts of ideas and writing prompts.
> 
> I've posted the glossary and spell list on my [Gems of Ephedia tumblr](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/).
> 
> The entries not world-changing and it is actually easy to infer the meaning in the story. I just thought it would be helpful, especially for the more obscure spells and terms. Ephedia is a large blank canvas and I could not possibly fit it all.
> 
> As of November 2017, I have raised the content rating to M (Mature) because I am going to progressively go into darker and more mature themes.

It had only taken Carissa an hour to gather her things for the mission and make off with two weeks’ worth of food and supplies inside the nearly bottomless pocket in her cloak. It was the pretending to go to sleep and waiting for midnight that drove her stir-crazy. Almost everyone in the camp was asleep, except for the fire watch and night patrol. She had gone about her routine like normal to keep the Xerins from suspecting anything but they were too busy taking care of post-shanila Izira anyways.

Carissa was quietly cleaning up the tent and she realized how pathetic and desperate she had become to do _anything_. In the name of Calyx, she was cleaning! Lyna dozed fitfully thanks to the strong brews from the healers and Carissa did not envy her. Lyna’s skin was covered in blue patches of salve meant to close her cuts and there was a long one smeared across her left cheek. It hid a deep scar that would take years to heal. She certainly did not want to be there when Lyna saw herself in a mirror.

“For a Borealian, she’s pretty far away from home.”

Carissa nearly jumped into the ceiling of the tent.

Jodan stood at the door of the tent. He wore his Resistance cloak, but when he crossed his arms, it revealed his snow-white pea jacket with the lapels held down by crescent-shaped badges. The edges were embroidered with orange thread in a facsimile of a Voltan knight from the Order of Black and White. Around his neck was his signature blue scarf knotted like a cravat. The uniform reminded her too much of Mephisto.

Carissa herself wore a black and white dress made with a violet star of Calyx emblazoned on her chest. Her dress had a loose flowy hem that reached mid-thigh, very different from Praxina’s flounced skirt. It was a _ruse de guerre_ , one that made Carissa’s skin crawl, but it would be easier to lie about being Gramorr’s knights than Lady Morgaine’s Shields this far west in the empire. It had been Jodan’s suggestion to wear their enemies’ uniform too.

And it was just as unfortunate that she actually owned one, buried in the bottom of her packs, having hoped that she would never have to wear it again. No one needed to know where she got the uniform.

“You have a problem with Lyna?” she asked defensively.

“I have a healthy dose of suspicion like everybody else. Lyna is the only Borealian blue blood in this whole camp, but she has no servants or knights with her. She crossed a continent, restored the imperial family and now she’s travelling on to Volta. What’s her stake in this?” Jodan spoke aloofly, like he really did not care. Carissa knew better.

“You don’t trust her.” She was almost certain of it.

“Do you?”

He threw the blitzball back in her court and she was not quick enough to throw it back. Her hesitation and silence spoke like a thunderclap in her face. She would not admit it to Jodan’s, but she agreed with his suspicions. Lyna was many things. Most of all, she did not belong with Lady Morgaine’s knights. 

“I don’t trust anyone whose agenda I don’t know,” Jodan explained further. “Borealis wasn’t big on picking a side during Gramorr’s conquest. They didn’t side with Gramorr but they didn’t lift a finger to fight for Ephedia either. Now, we have their only princess right here in our camp. Lyna doesn’t strike me as a warrior type like you or the other Shields.”

Carissa frowned. She could not find a reason to disagree with his logic and that irritated her. “What exactly are you getting at?” 

“Did you kidnap her or was she banished from Borealis? Why does Lady Morgaine’s Shields harbour the First Princess of Borealis? You, since you’re the Second Princess of Calyx, seems reasonable. But, Borealis? No.”

“Lyna left Borealis all on her own.”

“With the permission of the Borealian Empress? I don’t believe that. I’m not that gullible.”

Carissa huffed, feeling her heart pound against her ribs. “Borealis, it’s a beautiful place, but it’s like the stem of a crystal flower—fragile and unstable. The kingdom is barely held together. When you lock yourself away from everyone in a high tower and pretend nothing changes for fifteen years, you lose perspective on the world at large.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I know Lyna can fly but I also know what a map of Ephedia looks like. Lyna must have taken a boat to get to the mainland and I know you Calixans still have boats.”

“They’re called ships.” Carissa turned away from the prince, annoyed, only to be met with his image in Lyna’s vanity mirror in front of her. She could not even avoid him there. In the glass, she saw a golden moon framed by the tent flaps, illuminating Jodan’s auburn hair. 

She shivered. In that light with his brilliant green eyes and dark hair, he looked like Mephisto’s ghost. What a horrifying thought.

She considered not tell me the truth but then realize that Jodan could ask almost any other Shield knight for the details. She supposed she should tell him, or else he would get a distorted version from another knight.

“Lyna…ran away. She stowed away on our ship in the middle of the night. We ended up in Borealis because we had no choice, but the empress—Lyna’s mother—didn’t believe that.”

She recounted the first few days of travelling by sea. She did not mention it to the Voltan prince, but it had been a double-edged sword, an exhilarating experience of true freedom and a horrifying realization that she might never see Calyx again. They had left Calyx by ship and sailed the Lernaean Seas. Bad weather and a sea monster attack had knocked them off course and made them to head for Borealis. The empress of the island nation, a very suspicious woman, had caught wind of Sir Hendrik and Carissa’s presence and summoned them to the throne room at sword point.

Carissa bristled at the memory. “The queen took one look at me and dismissed me as a child. I guess I didn’t pass muster. She sent me away to ‘play’ with Lyna. She didn’t know much about the world beyond her island and I guess that inspired her to run away. Then they sent their assassins after us for months.” 

“Assassins?”

Carissa cringed at the memory. She touched her side. There was a long pink scar under her dress. One of the assassins had gotten brazen and tried to stab her in the kidney with a dagger, right in the middle of a busy marketplace. It was the day that Lyna had finally snapped and for the first time used her magic talisman to transform and fight.

For Lyna, it had been a great day, an accomplishment. For Carissa, it had been one of her worst, right alongside her parents' death and her ruined Ball of Roses. She had been bedridden for days, thinking she would die and wanting the agony to end quickly.

“They thought we kidnapped her, at least that’s what the queen had told them. Lyna said that she had left a letter in her room explaining that she had run away. She never thought her mother would try chase after her. After that, they stopped coming after us. Maybe because we were too far from Borealis or maybe they stopped caring.”

Jodan’s face remained expressionless. “So why did Lyna end up on your ship in the first place?”

“To get away from her over-controlling mother? I don’t know. I’d run away too if I ever had Lyna’s mom as my own.” She shrugged and tried to add levity to the situation. In a way, she understood why Lyna left. Carissa had been like that with her own sister who was the iron-fisted ruler of Calyx.

Carissa froze at the thought of her sister and stopped fidgeting with Lyna’s dented tea tins. 

“We should get going,” she said, not wanting to talk anymore.

“Spenser already went ahead to the meeting spot,” Jodan said.

Carissa grabbed some last minute trinkets from the cedar chest under her bed and slipped into the forest in silence, Jodan following her.

000000

Not even the leaves crunched under their boots. Their dark blue cloaks were glamoured with charms to keep them hidden under the moonlight. When the fires of the camp were small specks in the distance, they found Spenser waiting under a tree with white crystal leaves.

“Good morning,” Spenser said, his lips curling at the corners in a wry smile. He wore a white jacket, just like Jodan’s, but it was embroidered with Calixan stars on his shoulders.

Carissa was glad to see him walking around, even if he was still walking stiffly from his injuries. She wished she had studied more about healing magicks than combat theory. 

The knight pulled out a silver pocket watch from his jacket and the other two gathered around him. It came to life, a glowing map springing up from the watch’s dial face, already marked with their location and a route that led deep into the heartland of Volta. Carissa memorized the route like she would an orienteering course. It should only take them about three days to get to Andrak, but considering that it was in a heavily watched territory, she doubted that it would be that easy.

Now it only left the issue of getting there. They forewent horses, knowing that they would only be a hindrance. No way they were getting there on foot. Carissa looked at Spenser expectantly. 

The knight knelt on the ground with his sigillum spinning under his feet. Dark power rose up through the earth. _“Aterodere!”_

The ancient runes spun, a dark creature emerging from the earth. The beast towered over Carissa and gazed at her with icy grey eyes just like Spenser’s.

It had the form of a Calixan storm leopard, but larger, standing several heads over the redhead princess with dark violet fur, glowing blue rosettes that were the size of hands and a thick tail as long as its body adorned with bejewelled silver bands.

It was made from dark magic, the same kind as Praxina and Mephisto’s, the same as Gramorr’s.

Carissa looked at Jodan carefully. The Voltan looked unimpressed. She had no idea if that was a good thing or not. It was not a secret that Spenser was far more accomplished in dark magic than most of the Xerins would like, but the knight did not go around casting dark spells left and right either.

The giant feline bumped its great head into Carissa and knocked her over, holding her down with a massive paw playfully. “Belph—!” She got a mouthful of fur.

Carissa controlled the spike of fear. It was always alarming to see a crystal monster come at her, playful or not. She snorted fur out of her nose and went still as the beast rubbed its scent all over her. She placed soft kisses on the cat’s pink nose.

“Belphoebe!" Spenser hissed the creature’s name, making her come to heel. He looked mildly embarrassed at his creature’s display.

“So, how does this work? Are you going to summon another beast?” Carissa asked. She had no problem sharing a saddle, but boys were larger and always awkward. 

“I’m not much of a cat person,” Jodan interjected. He eyed the big cat. “I can handle myself.”

He walked some distance away from them. A summoning circle popped up under his feet. The air grew chilly, a mystic wind ruffling his hair.

The air thickened with magic around the Voltan prince and his hair started to lose its dark auburn colour and become a bright orange. Carissa rose and looked on with interest as her magic armlet started to vibrate with energy. 

For the first time, Carissa saw the royal Voltan emblem underneath Jodan’s feet. His magic circle was ornate and complex, more so than Auriana’s. It was a sight to behold. A true Voltan sigillum. The star in crescent against a background of tree roots, all of it was surrounded by intertwining multi-layered lines that resembled flower petals and star points, dotted with advanced ancient runes and tangrams. It was beautiful and a clear marker of his illustrious heritage, worthy of a firstborn prince of Ephedia.

And it was used for black magic.

_“Aterodere!”_ the Voltan prince cried out. 

Carissa’s heart stopped pounding in her chest. She summoned her clubs, suddenly readying for a fight. The sound of a hundred wolves howling made her skin break out in goosebumps.

The knight behind her placed a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, Carissa.”

The earth groaned under Jodan’s feet. His magic circle became a ring of dark gold. All around them the light of glowing crystal dimmed as his magic summoned a legendary Voltan direwolf.

The beast’s fur was reddish brown, flecked with long strands of gold and bronze, its claws made from amber crystal and its eyes the same green as Jodan’s. It huffed white puffs of hot air and shook its fur out, turning to nose Jodan. It towered over him like a mother leopard checking its kittens. The wolf laid its eyes on Carissa and Spenser before finally landing on Belphoebe. It bared its long sharp teeth, hackles up.

Carissa swallowed, eyeing the wolf warily. “You know dark magic.” She said it, trying to sound calm and unaffected, and failing miserably. The surprises just kept on coming with Jodan.

“Is that a problem?” Jodan levelled at her.

“You’re a prince. Izira won’t like this.” 

“Quite frankly, I don’t care about what Izira or her Xerins think. She’s not the Queen of Volta.”

“Anyways, Izira isn’t our commander, Carissa,” Spenser said diplomatically. “What she thinks has no bearings in the Shield’s business. Just keep quiet about this when we get back. We need to keep the peace with them.”

Carissa sealed her lips. Spenser was right, reminding her that she was here as a knight of Lady Morgaine’s Shield.

“Want to pet him?” the Voltan tossed over his shoulder as he started scratching the beast’s ear. 

Carissa was not sure if he was joking or not. Spenser took a brave step forward and looked over the giant wolf.

The wolf rolled over with a thump, its tail whipping back and forth, as Jodan rewarded it with belly rubs. “His name is Fenrir. He’s nice if you stay on his good side and give him red meat.”

“How long have you been in a demon covenant?” the knight asked. Belphoebe stepped forward and lifted her nose at the wolf.

“Long enough.” The answer was evasive as hell, they all knew it, but if Jodan did not want to share, they could not force him. The price of a covenant was a heavy lifelong one and maybe it was better not knowing.

Fenrir straightened up and Jodan jumped onto the wolf’s back, a well-practised and confident movement, like he had been doing this for years. 

At least the issue of how three people would get to Andrak without overcrowding one crystal beast was answered. Carissa and Spenser mounted the large feline.

Belphoebe paced a few circles before racing into the forest at Spenser’s guidance, followed by Jodan on Fenrir. Since they were chthonic crystal creatures, they were quieter than the wind.

000000

They rode for several hours, keeping a brisk pace. Belphoebe and Fenrir being magical creatures helped and they navigated the land better than any human or horse. At some point, Carissa had dozed off in the saddle, leaning back into Spenser.

It was midmorning when they stopped for a late breakfast or early lunch. Brunch, Carissa thought, as she remembered Iris bringing her, Lyna, the other princesses and some of Iris’s other Earth friends to a pancake house.

Brunch consisted of crusty bread toasted over a fire and slathered with fruit butter and roasted venison. The boys ate ravenously than her after expending all that energy on their crystal beasts. It went unsaid that they all felt guilty for leaving Izira’s army in the quiet of the night. The three of them dozed through the noonday sun to regain the hours they had lost while Fenrir and Belphoebe kept watch.

Carissa was the first to wake up. She found that Fenrir had hunted a deer and dragged it to a spot just downhill from their camp. The deer was just skin and bones now. Spenser and Jodan were still knocked out and the fire pit had died.

Watching her carefully and licking his chops, Fenrir stared at her with big emerald eyes. They were the same colour as Auriana’s. 

Carissa had little experience with wolves. Little pet dogs imported from the other realms, yes. Wild wolves and foxes, no. She had read and studied them but they did not have canines in the mountains of Calyx. Instead, they had wild cats; lions, leopards, cougars and every variation in-between. She knew how to fight them too. She had been trained from the day she had decided that she would no longer be her sister’s pawn to survive every conceivable threat in the taigas.

Carissa found Belphoebe curled up on a tree branch. The princess chuffed, a sound she made from her throat, and Belphoebe leapt down excitedly to follow her. They walked down to the creek where Carissa refilled her canteen.

Belphoebe hunkered down and drank her fill.

Years ago, Carissa had been in love with the idea of having her own covenant creature, like a personal pet. She realized now that it was because she had been starved for affection and companionship, for a friend or a sibling that would listen to her. Mephisto had offered that freely in spades. Whenever his mercurial sister could no longer stand his doting, whatever was left in him was pushed on Carissa and she had eaten it up like a love-starved kitten. 

He had never tried to seduce her. In fact, he had made it clear from the beginning that he had no interest in romantic entanglements and that sort of honesty was what made Carissa open up to him. This was all before they realized that they were saboteurs. What he had done instead was much worst and she was incapable of detangling the mess inside her heart. She hated him for it but she could not help but just chase him to the ends of Ephedia.

Carissa was suspicious of Jodan but mostly, she just did not want to be blindsided again by people she thought she was supposed to trust. She had joined Sir Hendrik’s battalion to find answers for what Mephisto and Praxina did and she had ignored a thousand opportunities on Earth to do so.

Why? Because she did not want to face the truth that maybe Mephisto and Praxina were exactly the kind of people everyone thought they were. Evil, psychotic and way too powerful to be left unchecked. Carissa was convinced that there was more than Mephisto had ever let on. Spenser and Sir Hendrik tried repeatedly to tell her otherwise.

“Mephisto was never your friend, Carissa,” Sir Hendrik had often told her. “He is the exact thing that all mothers warn their daughters about when dating a suitor that is socially beneath them. He used you like a tool to further an agenda.”

Then a few months ago on Earth, Mephisto had tossed his half of the petrification charms that she now hid in her pockets.

What in klatznik had that meant? Was it supposed to mean anything? An olive branch of peace? Mephisto was dead, so she would never get those answers now. 

She was spending way too much time in her own head, lost in psychological babble.

Carissa rose up from the river and took a walk to stretch her legs. Belphoebe had taken to climbing the trees and stalking on the crystal ribbons overhead as it was in her leopard nature. Carissa stopped when she heard tree branches snapping and a string of curses.

A girl burst through the brush, her hair tangled in a branch. She turned and tripped on a root, falling on her bottom. She had platinum blond hair and diamond blue eyes—and she was tangled in her cape.

It would have been funny if the girl was not wearing a uniform just like Praxina’s, a white and black dress over tights tucked into boots. Instead of a butterfly motif on her chest, it was a bird’s head outlined in golden thread. The girl was a knight of the Order of Black and White and judging from her accent and her emblem, she was from Kitezh.

Carissa jumped into action, sending a warning to Spenser through her hand mirror and the other hand summoning a club.

_“Crystal offensio!”_

The white-haired girl went flying into the bushes. Carissa rushed over and grabbed the brooch that held the girl’s cape together. It was obviously her magical artifact. She froze the pin in a ball of crystal, effectively stopping her from retaliating with stronger magic.

The girl found her wits and started speaking jibberish in a foreign language that was neither Voltan or Ephedian.

“Speak the common tongue!” It was Carissa’s only warning to the girl. She pointed her club with a hot spell ready to go for extra emphasis. 

“Yes! Please don’t hurt me! You win! I’ll do as you say.”

Carissa narrowed her eyes. What was this girl doing all the way out here? “What’s your name?” she said.

The girl spoke a broken Ephedian, clearly still a learner.

“Aleksei…Aleksei of Kitezh… I’m not a princess or lady. I just come from Kitezh.” She stared at the club and then saw the Calixan star on Carissa’s chest. “I don’t want to fight… I don’t want the prize or the glory… I know you’re Calixan and you like to fight… I can’t give you that. Just give me back my pin and I’ll leave you alone…please.”

“No.”

The girl reared. Her movements were sloppy and imprecise, but her desperation made her fast. She swept Carissa’s legs from under her and fired a spell. _“Ateruina!”_

Carissa sputtered as crystals bit into her flesh. She blocked with one club and threw an attack with the other. _“Crystarmum! Crystal colidum!”_

Energy and rocks exploded everywhere. The purple princess pushed through the dust and gave chase. Aleksei threw hasty spells behind her and Carissa matched every single one of them, catching up until a dark form fell from the treetops.

Belphoebe leapt out and pinned Aleksei down with a massive paw. The girl screamed and struggled to escape. The large feline bared her knife-long teeth and roared in her face, making even Carissa’s bones shake.

The girl froze, eyes like saucers, and let out a pathetic sob. “This isn’t fair!” she cried out. “Mercy! Mercy!”

Jodan and Spenser showed up a moment later and Carissa brought them up to speed.

_“Morbullo!”_ Spenser captured the girl in a sphere of violet crystal and silenced her screaming. 

Aleksei smashed a fist against the wall of her prison. Her spells bounced back at her. She yelped and fell back down, lying against the crystal.

Carissa watched Jodan pick up the forgotten brooch off the ground. 

“What is it?”

“It’s a livery badge,” the Voltan explained. Carissa’s frowned, not understanding. “I guess it’s a little different in Calyx. It’s a pin for your cloak, usually. It shows to which house or tribe you are sworn to. Rich lords and ladies give these to their servants and followers. These things go for a lot of money on the black market. Upstart families buy them to legitimize themselves.”

Carissa glanced at the pin carefully. It was a beautiful piece, made of enamelled gold, something benefitting a prince or a king. It was in the form of an eagle volant perched inside a Voltan crescent. A brilliant topaz was set in the bird’s eye.

_“Crystanascere!”_ the prince said, hoping to exam the nature of the jewel. 

Carissa stared at it and felt her own armband heat up with electricity as Jodan held it up to the sun for inspection.

And then she saw it. She gaped.

A rune glowing inside the topaz.

An ancient Oracle Gem, just like the one set in her armband and the one in Jodan’s medallion.

Jodan glanced at Carissa. Instinctively, feeling the same shock as her. They both just knew what it meant.

“Is she… _one of us_?” Carissa asked quietly, touching her armlet. _Is she a princess?_

Jodan shook his head. “I don’t recognize her, but then again, I don’t exactly live at court. I never met a Black and White knight that was never alone.”

The Voltan closed his eyes and extended a hand to the ground at his feet, his sigillum popping up. This time, it was a pure joyful orange. Not dark magic.

_“Crystalocum sonaris.”_

Carissa felt it beneath her boots. Magic pulsated through the earth in undulating waves. The trees around them shook, making pine needles fall, including in her hair.

Jodan opened his eyes. They were glowing white, lit by an inner fire, soon replaced by his usual emeralds. “We’re not alone.”

“What does that mean?” Spenser said.

“It’s not a coincidence we found her,” Jodan said and cursed a little bit in Voltan. “There are hundreds of people in the forest. We just walked into the shanila magna ceremonia.”

“Here’s my next question: what’s a magna ceremonia?” the knight asked.

“Gramorr’s war…games.”

“Please tell me it’s something really fun and festive, Jodan.”

“It’s supposed to be a…” Jodan waved his hands, trying to figure out how to express himself. The pupils of his eyes widened and turned glassy. “When Gramorr came and put Azrael in power, he turned the sacred rite into a military exercise to find the strongest sorcerers and sorceresses in all of Volta. Every child who completes their shanila has to participate. It happens every year and it changes places all the time.”

Carissa and Spenser exchanged worried looks. “So what is this girl doing out here?” the knight asked.

“It’s a battle royale, the last one standing. Sometimes…people are killed.”

“You mean ‘a lot,’ don’t you?” 

Carissa swallowed a lump in her throat. What kind of tradition was this? They had war games in Calyx too, but there were rules and terms of engagement that had to be followed. They were mostly for testing one’s psychological and physical endurance in the wild, than being an actual killing spree.

“There are hundreds of shanilum in the forest right now and a base camp somewhere over to the west.”

Spenser exhaled calmly, gears already turning in his mind. They were surrounded by enemies on all sides. He always knew what to do, and Carissa was always grateful for that. “If Gramorr’s army is this close, then Sir Hendrik and the others have to know. Let’s get some answers out of her.”

Spenser turned. The air thickened with anger. The girl in the bubble looked around helplessly for an escape.

Jodan stopped the knight with a hand. “Let me talk to her, Spenser.”

“This isn’t up for debate. I lead this team. I’m going to talk to her”

“You’re _Calixan_!”

“And?” Spenser glared at Jodan, daring him to continue his thought. Carissa sensed that the Voltan was getting at something darker. She could feel it in the way Jodan in front of Spenser, knees bent, spine tense, a defensive stance.

“Let me rephrase that: you’re a Calixan _savage_ ,” the Voltan said boldly, pointing at the eight-point star on his chest for emphasis. “You’re literally wearing the symbol of your people on your chest and you know what people think about Calyx, Spenser. Conquerors, raiders and mad queens that set their servants on fire. She isn’t going to talk to you because Miss Warrior Princess and your oversized cat just tried to maul her. She probably thinks you’re going to kill her.”

“I am a knight of Lady Morgaine’s Sh—”

Jodan shook his head. “Look at her. She’s not a warrior, she’s a kid. She’s probably never even met a Calixan until today. All she knows are the stories of your people.”

Carissa winced, guilt washing over her. Jodan was pointing at her, pointing to her own ancestral history and every bit of it was deserved. Still, it hurt.

“How dare you!” Spenser sputtered, putting himself in front of the princess.

Carissa grabbed one of Spenser’s arms to stop him. “Stop it. I don’t need a protector. I know what history says about us and I’m not going to cover my eyes and ears to it. If Jodan thinks this is best, then let him do it. This is his country and his people.”

Spenser looked her in the eye, his silver eyes trying to find meaning in hers. “Carissa, I wasn’t…” The knight stumbled over his words but she shook his head, telling him to shut up. 

Dismissed, Spenser struck off in a random direction, pacing in circles before punching a tree with a gloved hand. It looked like it had hurt. He pulled out his pocket watch to contact Sir Hendrik. She knew that Spenser was that not going to let this slide, not by a long shot. He was a devoted knight of the Shield but like everyone else, he was afflicted with a Calixan temper.

Carissa followed Jodan. Aleksei’s face was red and splotchy from her crying. She recoiled when the purple princess approached. There was true terror in her face. The princess watched, arms folded across her chest. 

Jodan was seated on a boulder and leant forward. 

Then he started speaking in Voltan to the girl and Carissa could barely keep up. The girl softened and open up to Jodan. They spoke for a long time.

In Carissa’s opinion, the Kitezhka was not much to look at. She hardly qualified as warrior or sorceress material, let alone something equal to Praxina. There were dark bags under her eyes and her skin had an unhealthy pallor. Aleksei sat on the floor of her prison with her knees drawn up and her cloak hastily tied around her neck. No one ever said that Gramorr drafted willing men and women into his army.

As she listened, Carissa realized that Jodan’s voice had a musicality to it, playful and light. He probably had a good singing voice like Auriana. She wondered if he would ever learn about his younger sister’s other life on Earth, the one where she was a popular singer. 

Then his tone became serious as he unravelled Aleksei’s story.

When there was a pause in the conversation, Carissa jumped in. “What did she say?” she asked.

Jodan stared at the eagle pin in his hand and then back at Aleksei. Suddenly, he started speaking in the common tongue—Ephedian—but not for Carissa’s benefit. “You’re not telling me the truth, Aleksandra. You know how to speak High Voltan, so I’m pretty sure you can speak Ephedian too. Now cut the act and tell me the truth.”

Carissa perked up and picked up on the dark turn in the conversation. Jodan had caught the Kitezhka in a lie of some sort. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” the girl begged. Her voice was clearer and more confident, unlike before.

“We don’t want to hurt you. Tell us what’s going on and we won’t. We can protect you.”

“Why would you help me?” Aleksei asked.

“Because you’re Kitezhka and I’m Voltan. We have to take care of each other if we want to survive Gramorr’s madness.”

“What about her and the other one?” The girl refused to look at Carissa, too scared.

“They won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“Are they your masters…?”

“No. They are my brother- and sister-in-arms, trapped like you and me in this awful game. When the war ended and the armies scattered, they were abandoned here in Volta.”

“Then who is your master? Or your patron?”

“One of the warlords in the city of Cassia. You wouldn’t want to know him. And you?”

She shook her head slowly. 

“You don’t want to say? Or you can’t because they cursed your tongue? You mentioned that some people were after you.”

The girl nodded.

“It’s because of this, isn’t it?” He held up her jewel to the girl. The gem burned hot in the eagle’s eyes under his touch, revealing the rune inside. “I know what this is and it does not belong to you, Aleksei.”

Because, by all rights, it belonged to him, the Prince of Volta, Carissa guessed. 

The girl looked on in horror. It was not a simple matter of a girl being caught with a priceless gem in her pocket. It was a magic artifact, something not easily overlooked or forgotten.

“We all know that the First Prince has only one son, no daughters,” Jodan said. “This is the Golden Eagle of Kitezh and it has been lost for more than ten years. How did you get this? I want the truth. You can tell me the truth of your own volition or I can use an interrogation spell on you.”

“I will tell you the truth.” The girl curled up around her knees. She stared at Jodan or at something that was a thousand miles away, her eyes glazing over. An eerie calm overtook her voice, like a quiet acceptance of certain death. “My father was the First Prince, but my momma… She was kitchen helper in the army, but they forced her into his bed. I was…not made out of love.”

A cold sweat Carissa’s arms as her stomach churned. The girl was…Carissa could not finish the thought.

“When the war was about to be lost, momma grabbed me and some of the First Prince’s jewels and ran away in the middle of the night. I think maybe thought she could sell it all until she realized what she had stolen. And now, everyone is after me because of this stupid brooch. I didn’t ask to be born. I never wanted the stupid thing, but my momma bonded the jewel to me before I even understood was going on. 

“Then they found us in our village a year ago…”—the girl paused and sobbed—“and they took me away. I haven’t seen my momma since. The real heirs are hunting me. They want to kill me so that they can honourably win the Eagle of Kitezh in combat. I swear I’m telling you the truth.”

“By honourably win, you mean ‘kill you and claim the artifact by virtue of combat prowess,’ don’t you?” Jodan clarified.

“Yes.”

Carissa felt bile rise up her throat. All this because she had been born to the wrong father?

_“Crystal solvenda.”_

The purple bubble shattered under Jodan’s hand, unceremoniously dropping the girl on the dirt floor. Aleksei did not move or run away. Instead, she lowered her head to her knees.

“Please, just do it quickly,” she pleaded quietly.

“No.” The Voltan shook his head. 

He slid off his stone seat and knelt down on both knees in front of the girl. Carissa had seen the other Voltans sit like that in the Resistance, especially in Jodan’s presence. There was a silk-like grace to it, full of reverence, halfway to a full kowtow.

“Like I said before, you’re Kitezhka and I’m Voltan. We have to take care of each other, but we have to be honest with each other so that there are no surprises. We are descended from the hunters that claimed this land, the Kitezhki who mastered the hawk and the Voltans that mastered the hound.”

“You’re not going to…”

“No,” he said, more firm, like her suggestion was not even a possibility. He pulled out a soft square handkerchief from his jacket and offered it to the girl to wipe her tears. “Here. Wipe your tears.”

Aleksei looked up and took it hesitantly, like it might be a trap.

Next, he pulled out half a crusty loaf of bread and one of those sacred Voltan fruits, offering them to her. “Praise the Gaean and the seven rivers of the Melzors from whom all blessings flow. Partake in my hearth and my food, Kitezhka.”

Jodan’s voice was gentle, the same tone he used with Auriana. Brotherly, caring, protective.

The girl started to cry in earnest. “You’re lying! You’re going to trick me!”

Jodan opened the girl’s clenched hand and laid the Golden Eagle of Kitezh in her palm. “This is yours, no matter how it happened and no matter what’s going on.”

Carissa turned and stepped away from the conversation. She walked on shaky legs before finding a root to sit on. Nausea climbed up her throat but nothing came out except spit.

Her eyes stung and she felt her own tears running down her cheeks. When she had left Calyx, this was not what she had… She had signed up for the fighting, not… _this_. And to think that her lonely existence as a spare heir to her sister was terrible.

000000

It took them awhile to cross the territory of the shanila magna ceremonia, especially when they had to avoid walking into fights between the other participating shanilum.

They had descended into a valley cut in half by a raging waterfall. The air was humid and cool to the touch, drenching them completely. The water crashed against the rocks below, bellowing like thunder and casting up a white mist that made it difficult to see the other side of the gorge. A bridge reached across the bottom of the falls, made of rope, wooden slats and metal fencing, thoroughly rickety and unsafe.

Aleksei had ridden with Jodan on Fenrir until the crystal beasts could no longer carry them through the dense jungle that led to the top of a waterfall. They followed a path that grew flush against the cliffside, more climbing than walking. They were nearly over the falls and home free, closer to Andrak.

Carissa hauled herself over a tree that had grown horizontally off the side of the cliff and offered a hand to Aleksei. Just like with Lyna, she had ended up being in charge of the Kitezhka too. Her expression softened when the girl whispered a low thank-you. The girl was disturbingly underweight.

Spenser had been angry about the impromptu addition to the team until Carissa had explained it to him the situation in private. 

Spenser halted their silent march with a hand, hearing something. Jodan slid his bow off his shoulder and knocked an arrow. A bassy explosion resonated through the valley.

“Look.” Jodan pointed with his bow downriver.

Down below in the gorge, a battle erupted. Hundreds of shanilum revealed themselves and leapt across the narrowest part of the gorge on spindly summoned crystal bridges. Energy and crystal flew in every direction, causing birds to take wing en masse.

A branch moved suddenly in the corner of Carissa’s eye and she leapt back.

Without thinking, she shoved Aleksei between her, Spenser and Jodan. She called her clubs to her hands as a half dozen of dark blue cloaks and uniforms descended upon them in all directions.

An ambush.

“Surrender now, Voltans,” the apparent leader said. Barely older than Spenser, he stepped up to the Calixan knight, his sword drawn. “We will spare you if you do.”

Apparently, they could not tell the difference between a Voltan redhead and a Calixan one.

Spenser drew himself to his full height and looked at the leader in the eye, not an ounce of fear in his silver greys. “You’re giving us a chance. Why?”

“We’re looking for the girl. I want to avoid an unnecessary fight.”

“Sorry, they’re spoken for.”

The leader frowned at the bad joke. “Redhead, hair styled to the side, short stature, you know who I’m talking about.”

Carissa’s blood turned to ice and the surprise showed on her face. Was he talking about her?

One them, a girl, got in Carissa’s face and ripped her hood off. She girl jumped back when they caught sight of her orange plait.

“We got one here!”

_Klatznik! They’re looking for her?!_ Carissa shrieked a war cry and ran headfirst into the fray, using speed and surprise to her advantage. _“Crystal oblitero!”_

Her purple crystals sent them all flying back. She grabbed the first one by the collar, smacked him hard under the ribs and threw him down to the forest floor. Gravity did its job as he rolled down. 

Jodan dispatched two of them quickly with his arrows, making them take several leaps back. Spenser fought the leader with his rapier.

Carissa was a force to be reckoned. She was flexible and agile and her other attackers had no idea how to fight against her strange weapons. She thought that they would be tougher but they were weaker than expected.

She danced out of the reach of a spear and trapped the spearhead to the ground with a bolt of crystal. It became a crude sculpture, disarming her opponent. A boy ran at her at full-speed with a sword. She dodged the thrust and twisted his arm painfully, applying pressure to the nerve in his wrist. The sword fell and shattered into crystal shards. She kicked him into a tree, his skull making an audible thump on the bark.

She was prepared for the older girl, a Xerin, that came from the right with a dagger, intent on stabbing her. It would not have worked anyways. Her cloak and gloves were made of Borealian dragon silk and they were impervious to blades. 

“ _Ateruina!”_ Aleksei shot out a jet of golden energy from her spot behind, knocking out the Xerin girl at Carissa’s feet. 

Carissa nodded and saluted with a club to Aleksei as thanks.

_“Crystal portus!”_ she yelled. A purple menhir grew out of the ground and launched her high into the air above Spenser.

Carissa combined her clubs into her ancestral warhammer and swung out a wave of energy that flattened everything in her path; trees, rocks, people. It was enough to knock back the leader and several others into the rock face. The rest ran away, knowing that they were defeated.

The fight came to an abrupt end—but Gods, her blood was roaring for more!

“Is that it, cowards?” she yelled at their retreating backs.

Her eyes fell on Spenser and the others to make sure they were still alright. Spenser held a knife to the ambush leader’s neck, rattling him for information. 

“What did you want with her? What do you know about us?” Spenser hissed. Carissa knew the dangerous tone well. 

She got a good look at the boy. Dark skin, pale blue hair, warm brown eyes. He wore a uniform from the Order of Black and White but it was emblazoned with a familiar blue lozenge. All of them did, she realized. “Shit, they’re Xerin.”

“In the name of Xintaxtra, mercy,” the boy choked out.

“A little too late for mercy!” Spenser said. “Answer my question, you piece of shit. What did you want with her?” He pointed to Carissa with his chin.

“I had no choice. They’re looking for the Princess—”

_“Crystal natet!”_

Spenser jumped back as the Xerin’s form was completely encased by orange rock. The Xerin was frozen in a crystalline stasis.

“Jodan, what the fuck?” Spenser sputtered. 

“We don’t have time for interrogations. We have to get out of here before the others call for reinforcements.” Jodan knocked an arrow and aimed his bow up at the sky. The arrow arched high and landed somewhere in the forest. Carissa had no idea what he had been aiming for but she assumed it had hit. 

“We have a bigger problem here! They know I’m here—”

“They’re not looking for you, Carissa! They’re looking for the _Princess of Volta_!” Jodan shouted.

The two Calixans froze. 

Jodan pointed his gaze to Aleksei who was still in the dark about who they were. Spenser rose, regaining his composure, and brushed the dirt off his cloak.

“Sorry,” the knight said quietly to Carissa.

“The fight isn’t over. The real party is down there.” Jodan pointed down at the valley. “This was probably just a scouting party.”

An all-out war was being waged in the gorge. Ribbons of crystal grew out of the rock, creating bridges and spires. Xerins were descending down to the cliffs on their side while a surge of Voltans rose up on the other. Blue clashed against a wave of orange, crystals flying everywhere.

Carissa’s eyes fell on the swaying bridge. A dozen Xerins were crossing and fighting a single Voltan—and the Voltan was putting up a fight and knocking Xerins into the rapids below without mercy. 

Carissa did not know what to think. After spending months with Izira’s Xerins and the camp labourers in the Resistance, it ate at her to see them fight like this. Outside of their little group, the rest of the world was still at war with itself. She looked to Jodan and she saw that he was affected too.

Then it struck her. 

The Voltan girl on the bridge fighting the Xerins… She was small and lithe, but she fought back with everything she had. Her hair was reddish orange pulled into a knot at the side of her head. Like with all the other shanilum, her dress was black and white but an orange Voltan moon was embroidered on her chest. And unlike the others, she had a sheer princess trail with golden moons at the tips.

Carissa swallowed. She looked too much like… “Wicked Red?” she blurted out.

No, it was not possible. 

Wicked Red leapt and flipped back several metres and stuck a perfect landing.

_“Ribbon of Volta!”_

The voice thundered throughout the valley. 

Carissa’s armband turned hot. Jodan froze and felt for his medallion, nearly ripping open his shirt. It had become burning hot too and it glowed brightly in his hand.

_There was no way,_ Carissa thought. Both of their gems were reacting, just like it had to Aleksei’s.

“Jodan, is that Auriana?” Carissa asked.

Jodan froze at the question and saw where Carissa was pointing. He was struck silent, green eyes wide with surprise.

Wicked Red held a stave with a crescent on the end, a long ribbon coming to life. She cracked it like a whip, orange energy sizzling. Then she winded up a punch and launched a star-shaped shield, pushing forward and using the barrier as a battering ram to knock the Xerins back and into the river _._

“Guys?” Spenser said. His armband was a normal piece, neither a family heirloom or a family treasure. He had no idea what was going on between Jodan, Carissa and now Aleksei who was trying to hide her pin between her hands.

Carissa pointed at her armband and then at the fight on the bridge, trying to make Spenser understand. Wicked Red fought with the might of a true warrior despite the odds. She levelled the next guy that came at her, latching her ribbon around his legs and pulling him down.

All of them were transfixed by the fight on the bridge. Jodan stared, a haunted look in his emerald eyes. He wiped the sweat from his face. Was he crying? 

Jodan was the first to move, pushing past Spenser and climbing the rest of the way past the top of the waterfalls. More forest stretched out before them still but the mountains of Andrak were not that far.

The purple princess looked one last time at the bridge. She motioned for Aleksei to walk ahead. All that chaos and bloodshed just because a bunch of kids had gotten their shanila and there were now some of them looking for Auriana. How awful.

“Her name isn’t Auriana,” Aleksei blurted out all of a sudden, falling into step beside Carissa.

“What?”

“The girl on the bridge. Her name isn’t Auriana. You’re thinking of the wrong sister.”

“What?” Carissa repeated, hoping for more clarification.

“Everyone knows her, or at least her name,” she said it as if it was common fact. It probably was on this side of the continent. “That was Aurora, the last Princess of Volta.”

000000

“Jodan!” Spenser said as calmly as he could without shouting. “Jodan!”

Jodan was walking at a breakneck pace well ahead of everyone else, his boots eating up the moss and earth. Spenser grabbed him by the arm and forced him to a stop. The girls were not that far behind, just out of earshot. 

“Jodan, what’s going on?”

The Voltan tried to school his expression but Spenser could already guess. He had met the Princess Auriana before and he knew what he had seen down on the bridge. “Was that Auriana?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me, Jodan. I might be younger than you but I’m not stupid. That girl has the Ribbon of Volta. Who else could she be?”

Jodan clenched his jaw. “Aurora.”

Spenser looked on confused.

“I have thirty-three sisters. Most of them are Aulus’s bastard daughters that my mother from the bottomless kindness of her heart adopted, but she and Aulus did actually conceive true heirs,” Jodan answered. He palmed the middle of his chest where his medallion hung under his shirt. “Triplets. One was Aurelie, but she passed away ten years ago when we tried to run away. Auriana got away and she eventually made it to the Resistance. The last one was Aurora. She didn’t get away. She was raised by the generals in Gramorr’s army and I guess…I guess she finally had her shanila and they’re making her fight in the ceremonia. It doesn’t matter anyways…we have to get to Andrak—”

“Slow down.” Spenser grabbed him by the jacket to stop him from running ahead again. He had not thought it possible, but his heart was breaking at the raw emotion on Jodan’s face. “If that’s your sister, then we should go after her.”

“What happened to getting to Andrak? You gave me shit for Aleksei this morning—”

“It’s your _sister_. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to go rescue her. She can come with us to Andrak and then join the Resistance.”

“No.”

“ _No?_ Jodan, isn’t family worth it?”

“Stop it.” Jodan held up a hand. “I want to go back and get her, I really do, but we can’t. If Aurora is here, it means that General Azrael might be here. If she goes missing, they will go after my mother and force her to produce another heir with King Aulus. My mother nearly died giving birth to those three. It…it just can’t happen again.”

Shock spread across Spenser’s face. “So you don’t want to do anything? She’s out there fighting for her life.” 

“She probably thinks I’m dead. She wouldn’t recognize me. It’s better this way.”

Spenser wanted to argue more but the consequences were too risky. And what if this sister was actually loyal to Gramorr’s army and she gave away their presence in the country? Everyone would be looking for a Voltan travelling with two Calixans.

Spenser warred with himself, knowing that it was better to walk away, but he imagined that it was worst for the man in front of him. It was pragmatic, logical, a mercy even. Better to think your brother is dead than hiding with the Resistance.

_The gods of Calyx must be testing me,_ Spenser thought.

“Did you know Aurora was alive the entire time?”

“Yes. I heard rumours about rebel cells trying to kidnap or kill her. General Azrael uses her as a symbol to unite the common people against the aristocracy.”

Jodan’s shoulders were bowed, his head lowered. Spenser had never seen the other man like this before. 

It was a trying day, starting from the fact that they had left the Resistance in the middle of the night like thieves, a very un-Calixan thing. 

Spenser felt like shit too even though he tried to hide it. He wounds were healing slower because he had used dark magic to summon Belpheobe to the material plane. And now the recent fight. 

But there was more to it, he just knew it. He knew Jodan well enough to know when the Voltan prince was hiding something—never mind the fact that he had lied about his royal heritage.

“You’re keeping something from me about these war games. War games are supposed to be military exercises, a simulation of combat. Back there, that was real bloodlust. The Xerins and Voltans were trying to kill each other. How do Gramorr’s generals benefit from letting kids kill each other? And don’t tell me some excuse about weeding out the weak.”

Jodan sighed. “Look, it’s complicated. It’s a race thing that goes back hundreds of years. They are fighting because…well, we don’t like each other very much.”

“What?”

“Us Voltans,” Jodan pointed a thumb at his chest, speaking in a slow measured tone like Spenser was dumb, “hate Xerin guts. We’ve been at war with them for centuries for one thing or another. I guess out there Calyx they didn’t teach you about our long history of ideological differences. By definition, we are natural enemies. That, and Gramorr literally made Xeris an infertile wasteland during the war when they stood up to him during his coup.”

Spenser tapped his heel, knowing that he was in for another mind-blowing revelation. It seemed to be the general pattern with Jodan. “You mean all the salt and sulphur stones in those fields in Xeris?”

Spenser remembered when they had gotten to Izira’s castle, the rebels had been barely surviving. It was a desolate wasteland covered in dark spires of crystal and salt but it also the best place for hiding a rebel base camp. A giant fuck-you to Gramorr.

“When Xeris fell, Gramorr punished the people for their open rebellion. His armies razed the fields and salted the earth—as in _pure_ salt. It literally rained salt on Xeris for months, killing every crop. So the Xerins packed up and left their lands to look for a new home. Some went to the sea, but a lot of them came to Volta’s door by the thousands and they tried to take our land away from us. It’s complicated.”

“No shit. Klatznik, why didn’t you tell me or Sir Hendrik this before?” Spenser kept his cool, or tried to. He could feel Jodan’s anger and he was amazed at the Voltan’s restraint after everything that happened in Izira’s army. “We’re literally bringing whatever is left of the Xerin court into a trap.”

“I told Sir Hendrik a long time ago, back when he didn’t know I was a prince.”

“And you’re just casually mentioning this to _me_ now?”

“Spenser, do you really believe that Izira and her followers don’t know that they have a willing Xerin army lying in wait here in Voltan backcountry? I pretend that I’m dumb to the Xerins. I know they chose to head for Volta because all the remaining Xerins are here. Izira is trying to build an army and I don’t think it’s for something as noble as defending the Voltan borders from whatever’s left of Gramorr’s Army. She’s here to invade my country.”

Spenser’s lips formed a tight line, thinking to the other day when Izira confronted Jodan. 

000000

An hour after nightfall, they set up camp high in the knot of a three hundred year old tree. Jodan kept the first watch and sat upon a bough, staring at the campfires in the distance.

There was an abandoned ziggurat that rose up to the sky made of yellow stone covered in moss. It was an ancient temple and it looked like some other shanilum had set up a camp within the ruins. Just to the east was the officers’ staging area where a small army ran and observed the magna ceremonia. Undoubtedly, General Azrael or Lord Dimitrius was there.

Aleksei sat beside from him, holding a cup of lukewarm hot cocoa in both hands. Carissa explained that it was a comfort drink from Calyx, but Jodan knew she was lying. The dented tin she had pulled out of her cloak was from Earth. Chocolate did not exist in Ephedia. Carissa was now sound asleep on the floor, wrapped in fur, beside Spenser.

In the last hour, Jodan had counted twelve signal flares flying into the sky, meaning that there had been some shanilum collected by the general’s officers, dead or unable to continue participating. He stared out longingly at the stars in the clear sky.

He remembered Earth. There, the night sky had only one white moon. His first night on Earth had been spent at the twins’ cavernous base just outside of Sunny Bay. He had sat on the grassy knoll above the cave entrance and stared at the moon and its stars, trying to find a pattern or something resembling the divine. This new world had been full of possibilities with no magics or crowns to worry about. Mephisto had joined him out there and he had pointed at the glittering coastal city, explaining how it was the most amazing place he had ever been to. Here, Gramorr, despite his posturing and threatening, had less power over him and his sister on Earth. It was a semblance of freedom after many years of servitude. 

Mephisto had found true freedom in death. He no longer had to deal with Ephedia and its crapsack wars and no longer had to be a strong warrior or a noble-born son. He did not have to deal with the new future that was going into motion. It was inevitable that wars for succession would follow and tear the country apart again.

Jodan had to live in the here and now. He had expected the journey to Andrak to be tough, but meeting Aleksei and discovering that Aurora was not far away…his heart was torn in two. He wanted to grab them both and run away, which was a thoroughly irrational idea. It was his brotherly instincts in play, something that he had picked up from Mephisto. The need to protect. How Mephisto managed to stay sane and human after years of servitude was nothing short of amazing.

Jodan shook the thoughts away. Aleksei startled when he shifted in his position.

“Sorry,” Jodan said. He pointed at her empty cup. “Do you want more?”

She shook her head. He took her cup, cleaned it up and put it away in a bottomless pocket. 

“Thank you. You have been more than generous to me.” She spoke High Voltan this time. Formal, polite, posh even. 

He threw her a curve-ball and replied in Kitezhi, her language. Of course, he knew how to speak the various languages of Volta. 

The girl sat up, surprised. “I didn’t know you could speak my language…”

“Who is your master, Aleksandra?” Jodan tried again.

She shook her head. He sensed there was no curse on her tongue. She was simply afraid to speak and he imagined, judging by the way she always kept her cloak on and covered all her skin, that it was because they beat her.

He had a feeling who was putting Aleksei through this torture. It had taken time but he had an idea who her master was. He knew the First Prince of Kitezh in passing and he could not imagine the man beating a child. Instead, his thoughts turned to the Second Prince of Kitezh. Jodan knew how first-born birthrights could inspire jealousy in second-born sons.

There was distantness in Aleksei’s diamond blue eyes again. She was too young for that kind of expression. Jodan hated it. Today’s ambush told him enough about Aleksei. She had a talent for magic and she knew how to survive the wilderness but she had no idea how to fight. She was a puppy thrown in with the wolves. No combat training meant that her masters had wanted her to die instantly. She had been lucky to stumble upon their group. Or maybe one of the goddesses of the Melzors was watching and guiding them.

“And what about your mother, Aleksei?” 

“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes tightly. “I don’t know where she is. I don’t know if she’s looking for me or if they captured her or if they…”

“I understand.”

“I was coming home from the village market. They grabbed me, chained me and threw me in the back of a cart. I saw them set our home on fire. I have nothing left. ”

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.” He reached across, pulled her close and rubbed her back comfortingly. “Let’s talk about something else. What was your shanila like? Did you do anything special to celebrate?”

The change of topic seemed to lighten the girl’s mood. “My mother bought me a new dress. She put blue beads and thread in my hair. And feathers too.”

“Feathers?” He pretended to be incredulous and curious for her sake.

“Yeah! We lived by hunting with hawks. She wanted it to be my trade too so she threaded her eagle’s feathers into my hair.”

“You like hunting?” he said wryly. He tried a smile and she smiled back.

“I loved hunting. Birds are easier than people. It was just…it was such a small village and everyone knew each other. The women didn’t like us because we were new and I didn’t have a father. I could read, write, cook and do math too. My momma taught me everything she knew though.” She sounded particularly proud, but then her tone turned dark. “And…I could do magic—better than the other kids. I had my shanila after I tamed a wild eagle that had stolen a lamb from the butcher. It happened in the middle of the village so…everyone noticed me. Then the men started trading more with my momma. They came with their sons and they would try to talk to me and give me gifts all the time.”

“Because they wanted their sons to marry you,” he chuckled at the idea of small town simplicity.

“We didn’t think that me getting my shanila would attract that much attention from Gramorr’s knights. They never come for the commoners in small villages, but I guess they thought my age meant I was something more.” Aleksei turned away. Her eyes watered. “It doesn’t matter. It’s all gone.”

“Hey, don’t be like that.” 

“I have nowhere else to go. They burnt my house down.”

“You’re not going to die here, Aleksei. Your mother wouldn’t want that.”

“There’s nothing you can do about it. I can’t stay with you forever.”

She was right, of course. No way he was bringing Aleksei anywhere near the Xerins, especially Izira.

Jodan looked over Carissa and Spenser again. Carissa would wake up for the next shift. Spenser would get the last shift before dawn because he needed the interrupted sleep more than anyone else.

The risk was worth it, he told himself. He could save this girl from a worst fate. At least she would be alive, if she worked hard enough. He would never be able to live with himself if he left the girl out here.

The boy stood up and grabbed his bow and quiver, slinging it over his back. “Come with me, Aleksei. I’m not going to let you die here.”

She blinked. “But there’s nothing you can do about it.”

The archer shook his head. “I won’t know until I try.” 

Without warning, he grabbed the girl by the shoulder and they vanished in a burst of golden light. Jodan teleported them across the valley and reappeared in the middle of a busy camp. This was the staging area, where all the military officers and other dignitaries stayed during the duration of the magna ceremonia. Fires still burned and soldiers patrolled the area.

Aleksei realized where they were. “We shouldn’t be here! This is…” Her eyes bugged out at the sight of a long banner emblazoned with a jade fleur-de-lys surrounded by a ring of golden ivy. They stood in front of a palatial tent. “We really shouldn’t be here!” she squeaked.

Jodan stared at the green flower that was still a symbol of terror among the Ephedian aristocracy.

Just then, the tent flap parted to reveal Lord Dimitrius, Gramorr’s green assassin. Jodan fell down to a knee in fealty. “My lord.”

“Sir Ezra,” Lord Dimitrius said curtly. It was his only greeting. The man’s calculating violet eyes fell on Aleksei and then the Golden Eagle of Kitezh on her cloak. No doubt he sensed the power in it. “Come in.”

Jodan had to drag Aleksei to her feet. She was scared witless and quiet, like she had been sentenced to death.

It took no more than ten minutes to explain the situation. Jodan left Aleksei in the assassin’s hands and returned to the forest. Aleksei was now in Lord Dimitrius’s care. She would have a hard life but at least she would be alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Official Fanfic Tumblr](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/)   
>  [Glossary](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/post/170091298987/glossary)   
>  [Spells](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/post/172709306877/spells)


	10. Andrak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carissa, Spenser and Jodan finally arrive at the Temple of Andrak but only leave with more questions than answers. Things don’t go smoothly when Carissa encounters Serafiel, Mephisto’s younger sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there is a canon theory on the time different between Earth and Ephedia posted on the Team LoliRock tumblr. Personally, I am not following it. It is too complicated for storytelling and I do not want people trying to figure out the math behind it. For the sake of the story, time units are exactly the same as on Earth. If I say Carissa is fifteen years old, she is physically fifteen on both Ephedia and Earth.
> 
> For those who are wondering, we're really going to see Mephisto next chapter. This chapter took forever to write and rewrite because I was never satisfied with it. Very Carissa heavy, actually. A lot of worldbuilding and plot setting still. I swear Mephisto is coming!

**** _Two years ago in Calyx._

The Ball of Roses was supposed to be the event of the social season. The Queen of Calyx had finally decreed the removal of the black bands on all the flags and banners, officially putting an end to the seven-year-long state mourning. The ball was supposed to be Carissa’s debut into court, the day she stopped being a child and became a lady. It was supposed to be one of the best of days of her life, short of her wedding day and the birth of her children.

It had been none of those things.

Her heart pounded against her ribcage, chest rising and falling in short powerful bursts. Icy cold air burned her lungs. She woke up slowly even though she was already standing on her own feet. Her eyes regained their sapphire blue colour and her hair its fiery orange intensity. The flames of shanila extinguished around her. Her hair grew back to its original length, falling in coppery waves down her dress.

Her shanila was complete.

Carissa stood in the middle of the devastated throne room. The floor had been ripped in half by black crystal and her parents’ granite thrones obliterated. Half of the painted ceiling was gone, letting in a flurry of snow. Five of the eight chandeliers had crashed to the floor. The great stain glass window that had depicted the eight gods of Calyx had been destroyed by a powerful blast, littering the floor with piles of coloured shards like autumn leaves. Hundreds of people were frozen in crystal eggs, others lied on the ground unconscious or dead. The throne room was more courtyard than hall now.

Out in the snow-covered gardens below, the battle against the army of black crystal monsters still raged on.

She held a white gold crown in her numb hands, clutching it tightly. She gasped, all the air leaving her. It was her mother’s crown, the Crown of Calyx. Stupidly, she dropped the thing and it clattered at her feet, rolling away.

_No!_ She ran after the tiara and snatched it up. She used her dress to polish it clean and then held it close to her chest. 

“Congratulations.” A slow sharp clap echoed in the empty room. “I knew you could do it.”

Praxina appeared in front of her. She had a ruby sabre tucked under her arm like a fan. She wore a red velour dress with deep cut lined with ermine. 

“His Mighty Malevolence Lord Gramorr is impressed with your skills, Carissa,” Praxina said.

Without warning, there was a flash of green and black fire and Mephisto materialized beside his sister, a sword in hand. He wore a form-fitting green jacket embroidered with golden serpents on the lapels. Overhead, a great black crystal dragon flew circled in the night sky.

The green-eyed boy smiled at her but she took a step back, terrified of him and his dragon that terrorized the castle. Praxina and Mephisto worked for Gramorr the Usurper.

They were here to finish what Gramorr had started. To kill that was left of Lady Morgaine’s legacy and that included Carina. No, that was wrong. They promised to show Carissa the truth and they did.

The rubble behind the twins shuddered and collapsed on itself. The Prince Consort crawled out of the pile of glass and stone. He pushed off a slab of purple crystal, revealing the Queen of Calyx. Her sister Carina was covered in dust and glass.

“Carissa, run!” the Prince Consort roared, seeing her flanked by the Sidonay twins. 

The Calixan princess was rooted to her place. The knife-like edges of her mother’s tiara dug into her palms. Carissa felt a lot of things as she stared at her sister and her brother-in-law.

Angry. Betrayal. Sadness. There was fire in her, but not from her shanila. It was a deep-seated blaze born of anguish and despair.

Seeing her wobble, Mephisto placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “I’m here for you, Carissa,” he said quietly. Just his words lifted her up and made her feel strong.

Praxina spoke up, cruelly pointing her sword at the queen. “You have undeniable proof, Carissa. That woman— _your sister_ —is not the Queen of Calyx. What will you do?”

Carissa stared at the crown in her hands and then at Carina. Her anger at her sister outweighed even the surprise betrayal from the twins. 

Her older sistered stumbled to her feet, holding her round pregnant belly. “Carissa, listen—”

_“You lied to me!”_ Carissa screamed at the top of her lungs, silencing everyone and everything. Her voice rang out in the cold air. It was a small relief to let out her rage.

“You lied to me and Sir Hendrik and the Shield and everyone else! How could you! Mamma and Papa died for this crown, died for _us_!” There was nothing she could do about the tears rolling down her face. Her hands shook from the cold and the pain of holding the Crown of Calyx.

Her older sister straightened and regained her regal composure. Impending motherhood had never softened her features. 

Her sister tried again. “Carissa—”

Carissa shook her head, her face wet and the tears becoming pinpricks on her cheeks from the cold. “You’re not the queen of me anymore, Carina. I did everything you said and I never questioned it. All I wanted was to have some sort of family with you. Was it too much to ask you to love me?”

Carina’s imperious gaze was enough to melt stone. Ordinarily, Carissa would have wilted under those sapphire eyes that resembled too much like her mother’s, but in the last year with Praxina and Mephisto’s help, her skin had grown thicker. It had been their plan all along to turn her against her sister and it had worked.

“It wasn’t easy for me when Mamma and Papa died,” Carina explained, “I was young and alone. I wasn’t prepared for the throne—” 

“And it wasn’t hard for me?” Carissa’s voice stuttered. “They were my parents too. I was seven years old and alone. I had no idea what was going on when it happened. You locked me in a room! All I had was _you_. Now, look at where we are, Carina.” The younger sister gestured to the destruction around her. She swallowed the apology on her tongue. She wanted to apologize and take everything back, to revert to the small child who understood nothing.

Before anything else could happen, Spenser and a dozen other Shields burst into the room, blasting through the crystal barrier at the doors. They closed in around Carissa and the Sidonay twins.

“Step away from the princess!” a knight commander yelled.

“Looks like we’re being kicked out,” Mephisto said to his sister.

“Our job is done here. Let’s go, little brother.” Praxina’s form burst into dark red flames, disappearing.

Mephisto turned to Carissa, speaking hesitantly. He offered a gloved hand to her. “Take my hand, Carissa. It’ll be worst for you than if you stay here.”

She should have gone with him. Instead, she stayed to face her sister. She had regretted it ever since.

000000

_The present._

The Temple of Andrak scowled down at them from under a darkening sky. It was as destroyed and untouched as it had been a week ago. Carissa shivered, flashbacks of the battle coming back to her mind with awful clarity. The dark monolith stood apart from the other escarpments and mountains. Black crystal jutted out from rock face, draining the energy from the surrounding forest.

The giant lodestone that used to float above the temple was gone, having crumbled from Iris’s power and tumbled down the mountain in a landslide. The same one that had killed Mephisto.

She gulped. Mephisto’s dead body was down there somewhere, whatever was left it. The idea made her want to throw up.

No one talked about how Aleksei had escaped two days ago in the middle of the night. Jodan had turned away for two seconds to piss and the girl had run away with only some of the food, nothing else. Spenser had been mighty pissed about it, but seeing as the girl had only taken food, he let the issue go. 

Carissa hoped that the girl survived whatever came for her next. She wished that the Aleksei had not stayed with them. They could have used another princess in the fight against Gramorr’s army.

Now, they stood on the lip of a cliff, hidden in a craggy crevice, looking for signs of recent activity at the Temple of Andrak. They had been watching the ruin since before sunrise. There was a village within eyeshot on the far side of a lake, nestled peacefully in green fields rippling in the wind, unaffected by the battle at Andrak.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Spenser said, sitting beside her with his thought crystal in hand.

“There isn’t much to say.” 

Carissa unbraided her hair and used a fine-tooth comb to brush the tangles. What she would not do for a full body bath, even if it was in a freezing cold river. Her hair was a mess, full of split ends. She missed how it used to be so much silkier. She used to be a pretty-as-a-jewel princess who wore only the most expensive clothes with her hair piled upon her head in a stylish jewelled coiffure. These days, she barely recognized the face in the mirror.

“Scared?” Spenser asked.

She stopped combing for a moment. “I don’t know. Yes…maybe. I’m scared of what I’ll find up there.”

“Me too.”

“You, really?” 

“Of course. I’ve never faced Gramorr before and I wouldn’t last in a fight against him.”

The idea of fighting Gramorr again terrified her. Spenser would be swatted away like a fly if he ever tried to go up against the evil wizard. Maybe Jodan would have a chance thanks to his medallion and royal heritage.

“Any news from Sir Hendrik?” she asked, trying to beat down her mounting panic. She did not want to talk about Spenser dying. “How about Izira and Lyna?”

“Things are not good. The Xerins have stopped talking to us. They won’t let Sir Hendrik anywhere near Izira. Lyna’s fine too, but Hendrik confined her to your tent just to be safe. The Shield is taking care of the Borealian.”

Carissa kept brushing her hair. They were keeping Lyna separate from Izira so that they would not consolidate power against the Shield, especially with her, Jodan and Spenser gone. “It’s not going well.”

The knight shook his head. “Whatever happened to Izira that morning isn’t something we can ignore. If she can’t control her powers, then we can’t let her keep the Medallion of Xeris. She nearly killed us in her sleep.”

“She’s doing her best!” she defended. “She’s only had her medallion for a few days. Jodan on the other hand, he’s had his medallion the whole time but he’s never used it to help us. I’ve never even seen him activate it.”

_“Hey!”_ Spenser cuffed her on the side of the head. “Don’t you dare say that Jodan doesn’t pull his weight. He may not the first to jump to the vanguard but he helps plenty in the camp. Not every prince and princess is a warrior. When was the last time you hunted and prepared your own food?” 

Carissa lowered her eyes. She was being childish and looking for easy excuses to justify her dislike of Jodan. “It’s hard to trust him. He doesn’t trust Izira or Lyna or anyone.”

“Why should he?”

“We freed him from Kroznak and after everything, he still doesn’t trust us with anything. He hid the fact that he was a prince for weeks. I couldn’t even tell if he knew magic or not.”

“And so you think he should be showing you gratitude or that he should cooperate with us? We are Lady Morgaine’s Shield. We don’t do this for glory or praise, and we’re certainly not doing it in the name of the Imperial Crown. We do it because it’s right and that’s the only thing that should matter. Unlike you, he’s had a genuinely difficult life.”

Carissa sputtered. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The older boy pointed to her golden armband. “You grew up in a castle, safe inside your own country. He grew up on the run. He didn’t go to school or become a squire. He didn’t start a rebel army. He ran and hid from Gramorr for ten years. When you’re alone and you feel like the world is against you, trusting people is the last thing you’re going to do. You have no idea what its like to grow up with literally nothing, Carissa.”

“And you do?” she sniped. She hated Spenser’s tone, how it picked at the things that she could not correct or perfect.

The knight furrowed his brows at her tone. “Yes, you know that I don’t have a last name for a reason.”

She realized her mistake and quieted. She had reopened a wound for Spenser. “Sorry. That was…that was childish of me.”

The princess had nothing else to add, nothing meaningful that did not sound like childish whining, and so she rebraided her hair as Jodan approached them. The Voltan wore his usual serious countenance.

The three of them cleaned up their camp, erasing all evidence of their presence. They mounted up, pulling their hoods over their heads and carefully made their way up the switchbacks to the temple. 

Carissa shuddered and looked over the edge of the decimated terrace where she had stood a week ago, where Mephisto had fallen to his death… 

A wave of nausea hit her. She wanted all of this to be a bad dream.

The bottom was littered with thousands of crystal shards glimmering in the sunlight. In the distance, she could see the Imperial Castle. The lodestone atop the Tower of Lux was a shiny white speck. She closed the capital in her gloved fist, thinking on how long it had taken to finally get here. Too long. 

If Mephisto had somehow miraculously survived, he would have died of exposure by now.

She took in the temple. Time to face the music—it was an Earth saying that Iris had told once. The doors to the temple were blown wide open. A curtain of darkness stared back at her. She really did not want to go in. In fact, she wanted to run in the opposite direction but she had no choice. They needed to know what was in there.

Belphoebe, Spenser’s giant crystal leopard, slunk over, spine up and tail flicking. The beast inspected the temple from the threshold and brushed by Carissa in warning. The large cat made her dislike for the place known. She sensed danger, or at the very least the remnants of dark magic. It swirled and congealed even though it was invisible to the eye.

Jodan and Spenser were not unaffected either. The Calixan knight kept a straight face and placed a firm hand on the princess’s should. “Take a deep breath. Gramorr is dead. Whatever’s left here can’t hurt you,” he assured.

Right. No _real_ reason to fear. Just bad memories the last of Gramorr’s terrible magic. 

Fenrir and Belphoebe stayed outside, not wanting to enter the temple. They sensed the great evil within. Even for black crystal creatures, they wanted no part of it.

The temple was empty. Sunlight filtered in from a destroyed portion of the ceiling and cast light upon the altar at the rear of the chamber. 

“Someone beat us to it.” Jodan bent down and inspected the floor. “Footprints in the dust,” he remarked.

Carissa bent down. She saw a giant paw print, feline, bigger than Belphoebe’s. _Banes_. 

There were more sets of footprints; one a set of dainty heels; the other a man’s pair of boots. She recognized the size and treads of the boots. _Mephisto’s_. She knew them well enough from her last encounter with him on Earth. It had been a stupid thing to notice that he had gotten new leather boots, expertly made by a cordwainer. She had been jealous. The leather had been barely creased, the treads not worn down. 

It galled her that she remembered such a detail. 

But it was impossible. Mephisto was dead. Praxina said it so herself, so these prints must have been older. Maybe months old.

The other footprints must have been Praxina’s. 

The wary trio checked every nook and cranny of the temple and found no one.

There was a drying puddle just under the hole in the ceiling from some shower that had passed a few days ago. The puddle intersected a ruined circle drawn on the ground and Carissa was careful to avoid it. She could see Mephisto’s touch in the perfectly drawn circle. The runes were artfully painted, the elaborate symbols crafted with precision. Carissa could not recognize half the symbols and neither could Spenser, whose eyes glowed silver in the darkness like a cat’s. Another of the many gifts of being in a covenant with the demon Belphoebe: seeing perfectly in the dark.

Spenser busied himself with copying the circle for later research while the Calixan princess delved deeper into the temple. Jodan was knelt on one knee at the foot of a carved wall, his head bowed and his hands folded together in front of him. It was not a new thing to see the Voltan pray when they came across a statue of a Voltan spirit or god.

The wall depicted a goddess, probably one of the Melzors, in haut-relief. Everything was covered moss except for the goddess herself. It looked quite unnatural, especially with the sunlight shining down on her. She had been cleaned by someone’s hand and her face lovingly repainted. More of Mephisto’s work. Was it considered desecration when it was a holy statue? 

There was an inscription at the goddess’ feet hidden in flowers. “Andrakia,” Carissa read. 

“Andra _cia_ ,” Jodan pronounced emphatically, between breaths of whispered prayers. “That isn’t a kaun, it’s a classical sig rune.”

“Wait, you can read?” Carissa asked.

“Can I _read_?” Jodan countered incredulously, looking stupefied at the princess.

There was a long and uncomfortable pause. Spenser looked up at them curiously. Carissa had no idea how to interpret the situation. Had she made a mistake?

The awkward silence grew longer and soon Jodan started laughing. “Of course I can read!” He reached over flicked her forehead. She had seen him do that to Auriana too, to tease her. The mood between them lightened. “You’re joking, right? I taught Auriana how to read before we ran away.”

The purple princess rubbed her forehead, red-faced.

“How was I supposed to know? I just thought that because you—you know what, never mind…” Carissa felt like such an idiot and looked away to hide her face. She had assumed that he was illiterate like many of the commoners in their resistance, forgetting that he was a prince.

_“Carissa!”_ Spenser sounded embarrassed on her behalf. It came out as a laugh.

The princess turned away, red-faced, realizing that both of them were laughing at her. Spenser was at the other end of the room clutching his stomach so hard he could not concentrate on his slate. She shot a bolt of crystal at the knight to get him to shut up.

Good Gods of Calyx, she wanted the earth to swallow her up right now.

“Sorry,” she said under her breath to Jodan and wrung her gloved hands. Her embarrassment soon turned to awe. “You taught her how to read?”

“Well, mostly her alphabets and numbers, basic words and things like that. I don’t know if Auriana it kept up though. I used to read them stories before bed. 

“Them?”

“The _three_ of them. Y’know, Auriana, Aurora and…Aurelie. Back when we were all together, alive. Mostly mother wanted me to practice my reading on them even though we were prisoners. There was this quiet book about matching animals that they really liked.” 

There was something in Jodan’s voice that warmed Carissa’s heart, less annoyance and more nostalgia for a better time, and it made her stare at her boots. Memories of her mother or father coming to her bed and telling her stories before tucking her into bed and turning the lamp off came to mind. It was a lifetime ago. She missed it. She missed _them_.

“You’re a good brother,” Carissa said.

The archer shrugged and tried to continue praying—he was still snickering and laughing. She took that as a good moment to exit and stew in her embarrassment in peace. There was still a lot of the temple to cover.

000000

Jodan kept Gramorr out of his prayers when he implored to Andracia to watch over this temple. He silently begged for the goddess to find Mephisto’s soul and accompany him back home to Erebus so that he could find his way to his version of the afterlife. Mephisto, despite all the horrible things he did under Gramorr, deserved to be mourned like any other man. He also prayed for happier moments in life, like opportunities to tease Carissa. He then prayed to Aurelie and then to his father, asking for guidance and forgiveness.

He rose, stretched his arms above him and went to help Spenser when he finished.

“Transverto immuto inli regis filia…” Jodan mumbled as he read one of the inscriptions. The rest had been scratched out by somebody. Jodan paced around the circle that Spenser was busy copying. 

The circle was drawn with paint and crushed crystals, bearing the symbol of the Ephedian royal family in the centre, its famed four-pointed star that had been derived from the Star of Calyx. It was evidence of their humble beginnings from an upstart cadet branch. The circle’s second layer was a pattern of foliate arabesques and fat palmettes winding around empty spaces. Were these spaces for a caster’s personal sigillum? Did it require more than one caster? Probably. Only one space had been filled out and Spenser was kneeling in front of it. The spaces were glaring evidence of an incomplete spell along with the missing runes in the words lining the circumferences.

Jodan tried again, trying to make sense of it. Runes could be read in almost any conceivable direction. They could represent different sounds or meanings depending on the sorcerer or sorceress. There were hundreds of schools of magic across the empire and even more outside the crown borders.

“Transverto immuto inli regis filia,” Jodan said with more emphasis, but with no magic. The words were familiar. He knew these words from somewhere, but something was wrong.

He filed the thought away for another time and tried another form of reading. He kept quiet as he recognized half-written names. It was a failsafe for the superstitious. Having a sorcerer’s true name, their praenomen, gave other people power over them. _Prax…Meph…Luce…Ezra…_

He had a small heart attack but kept his face straight. He eyed Spenser but he was sure the knight had no idea who ‘Ezra’ was. Spenser was oddly quiet. 

Something was wrong. The Calixan knight’s breathing was short and his hands were shaking over his slate.

Jodan’s eyes had to be tricking him but there was no mistaking the half-drawn Star of Calyx and the string of symbols encircling it.

_“‘Regis filia_ Carissa _Maeva Sibylla’?”_ Jodan read, saying it too loud. The name echoed in the temple chamber uncomfortably. Instinctively, he took a step back and put a hand on his knife.

It made no sense. Carissa’s name should not have been here, let alone her star. His own name, Praxina’s, Mephisto’s, Luce’s, he could understand—they were Gramorr’s agents. But Carissa? Outside of her obvious and tenuous ties to the royal family of Ephedia and her past fake friendship with the twins, it did not make sense. 

“I don’t understand,” Spenser said. His voice was quaking as he dropped his slate and pencil on the floor. He was just as surprised as the Voltan prince. 

“Why is Carissa’s name here?” Jodan asked. “What the hell is going on?”

“Jodan, I don’t know.” Spenser turned and saw the prince’s stiff stance. “Carissa would never work with them—!”

“Carissa was best friends with Mephisto back in Calyx. It’s been two years since she’s then and she’s still infatuated with him. You want me to believe that she wouldn’t run to their side?”

“Carissa’s not a traitor,” the knight gritted out. “It’s not possible. She’s always with Izira or the Shield.”

“Except on Earth.” Jodan let lie in the air like a stranger’s gauntlet.

The rest went unsaid. It was a bluff on Jodan’s part but the implications were all too real on Spenser’s face. Carissa was loyal to the Shield but more than once, Jodan had heard Spenser or Hendrik criticize Carissa for making dumb tactical decisions like going off on her own to chase a cursed Amaru or picking a fight with the twins with no backup. 

“It’s a trick.” Spenser shook his head. “Probably to mess with our heads.”

Jodan was not convinced though. Gramorr was more sly than most gave the dead wizard credit. He also had his other mission to consider from General Azrael.

000000

Carissa had not known that the temple would lead so deep into the mountain, splitting off into dusty dark corridors illuminated by the glow of black crystal that had grown like moss on a stone. She followed footprints in the dust. More of Praxina and Mephisto’s.

_“Crystal revellius!”_ She sent the spell flying down a hallway, trying to weed out traps. She watched the spell dissipate when it hit a door at the end. Small squeaking sounds echoed down the hall.

A furry white bat came flying straight at her, screeching and panicked. Shouting in surprise, she grabbed the rancid flying rodent and slammed it into the ground. Even more came at her.

“Calyx, get off me!” she swore. She used her cloak to cover herself when a swarm came flying down the hallway. She huddled behind a column and cast a spherical shield over herself, checking herself for bite marks and open scratches. She did not want to die of a bat-borne virus. 

The dumb creatures bounced against her shield. Nothing possessed or cursed about them. They were just animals reacting to her magic, she guessed.

When the swarm died, she peeked down the hall. Everything had turned quiet but she stayed on her toes. She reached the end and tried the double doors. The hinges did not even squeak when she pushed them wide open. She stopped to take in the room. 

It was a large circular chamber with a domed ceiling. It was an observatory. The walls were lined with mostly empty shelves and the floor tiles were cracked, in some places completely removed. A crystal staircase wound around the room, leading to a second-floor platform facing a glass window. The telescope was gone, but the mechanism that once held it was still intact. From the looks of it, it was—or had been—lived in.

It looked like a base for Mephisto and Praxina. Their things were strewn all over. There were two bare cots with woolen mattresses against the walls. Tables and desk were scattered everywhere, littered with papers, maps, scrolls and books. Chests had been pried open and the contents spilled on the floor.

“Ransacked already,” the princess said.

Everything important was probably already gone but that did not stop Carissa from grabbing things and throwing them in her cloak. Surely, they had missed something.

She turned over every sheet and flipped through every book for clues. Nothing.

It did not surprise her though. Praxina was not the sort to leave her things out for just anyone to find. The princess checked under the tables and in the chests, looking for false panels and hidden compartments. Nothing still. 

She tried the beds, tossing the mattresses on the floor. A book fell out to the floor in a cloud of dust. 

Carissa picked it up and brushed the dirt away. A hidden book meant secrets. She felt her mind turn inside out when she realized it was a book she had seen before. It was Praxina’s diary from two years ago, back when she had been in Calyx.

She hesitated but curiosity won.

Each entry was meticulously dated. There were pressed leaves and flowers between the pages, drawings of butterflies, spells and magic circle designs, poems and thoughts, written in all sorts of tongues.

_Yesterday, we landed in Calixta, the seat of Calyx. It is a lifeless city and the people are austere, more than the Xerins. I think they are hyperaware of their reputation as conquerors and queen-killers and they are trying to be as inoffensive and boring to us as possible. We are being put up in the Camellia Hotel._

_Today, we met Queen Carina VII, her husband Consort Prince Eckhart and her younger sister Princess Carissa. Queen Carina had inherited the throne long before she was ready. The previous rulers, King Calixtus and Queen Carina VI, had perished during the Decline. Supposedly, Carina VII came to power when she was fifteen and married her betrothed shortly thereafter._

_As expected, the luncheon was a pompous display of power and a fabulous waste of time. Mephisto forced me to wear a crinoline petticoat. I’m going to set it on fire in front of him as soon as I get the chance. Fashion in this country hasn’t changed since the Decline._

Carissa cracked a smile. Fashion backwards. She did not miss the crinoline skirts either. Carissa remembered the luncheon very differently. 

_Queen Carina still wears, or rather,_ _hides_ _behind a white veil in respect to her parents’ passing and the general fall of the Ephedian Empire. All the royal banners still fly black bands of mourning. She gives the impression of a pious gods-serving queen._

_Her sister Carissa is different. No veil, no mourning. She is pretty, polite and perfect, like all princesses—and too immature (she’s barely 13) to be romanced by Meph thankfully._

“Immature?!” Carissa repeated aloud. Had she been that awkward? There had already been other girls her age already betrothed.

_I know he was expecting something like that to fall on him but I’m glad that some god above was listening. He can’t just marry some random woman from across the continent. Father and Uncle Papi would have a fit and blame me._

_Fuck this. Why am I responsible for Mephisto’s virtue?!_

_Mephisto is saying ‘HELL NO!!!’ over my shoulder as he reads my journal…_

Carissa spotted Praxina’s neat letters wobble and then droplets of ink. She guessed that Mephisto had fought to take his sister’s pen away. Carissa remembered seeing them do that more than once.

_Carissa dreams of being a knight but it is a frowned upon thing for a noblewoman to pursue, as I learnt today when I changed into my uniform for a match of blitzball with Prince Eckhart and the castle’s club of cadets. I think I almost made the queen’s chamberlain cry. I thought it was funny. (So did Meph.) I don’t care for their mores but Meph wants me to play nice until we get a better understanding of their culture. And he thinks I’m scandalous? The idiot already has all the girls at court tripping on their long skirts for him. People are asking if he is betrothed to somebody back home._

_I think Carissa is key to understanding the state of this kingdom because I’ve never seen two sisters act so distant. There is no love between them—_

Carissa closed the book, her hands shaking again. She remembered the last cold night in Calyx. 

“What the hell do you know about love, Praxina?” Carissa muttered. What she really wanted to do was cry. Praxina’s perceptiveness cut like a knife.

Carissa pocketed the diary. Someone else could read about the sordid past she was trying to forget. Or she could set it on fire later. Her hands still shook as she rummaged through what was clearly Mephisto’s things.

Unlike Praxina, he did not keep diaries, he kept sketchbooks.

His things were dishevelled. It was the organized chaos of an artist. Hundreds of paint pots and tubes were lined up by colour on the bookshelves, paintbrushes were organized by size and fibre in glass jars, in progress paintings were shelved on a wooden rack to dry and blank canvases were stacked against the wall.

She rummaged through his sketchpads and paintings, trying to keep her emotions in check.

He had perfected his craft and found inspiration everywhere he went, including in his enemies. There were pencil portraits of Iris, Talia, Auriana, Lyna and herself. Scenes of them at the park, at the concert halls and _in combat_ of all things. What an idiot. She had not known that he had watched them so obsessively. He had drawings of Lady Ellira’s house and the Smoothie Bar.

Carissa bent down and opened a green trunk on the floor, relishing the familiar click and waxy smell. Mephisto’s serpent symbol was branded in the leather. 

Finally, she stopped in front of an oversized canvas that stood several heads above her. She used crystal levitus to remove the sheet covering it.

She swallowed hard, fighting whatever emotion was overcoming her.

At first, she had thought it was a painting of a Calixan goddess, maybe one of the venerated warriors like Lady Desdemona, even Lady Morgaine or Queen Maeve. Maybe even her sister Carina.

She knew that long flowing dress and that lacy white veil and sprigs of carissa flowers that had been pinned to long copper locks, shrouded in lilac flames. In the young painted goddess’s hands was the Crown of Calyx. In the background was the throne room, the great ceiling-high stained glass windows behind her mother and father’s thrones in Calixta. It was _her_ from the Ball of Roses almost two years ago; the same night Praxina and Mephisto had declared themselves Gramorr’s agents; the same night Carissa had completed her shanila.

It was a life-size portrait, clearly meant to be displayed for all to see. Under different circumstances, she might have squealed in joy and later blushed red in embarrassment at being the subject of such an outrageous and unique painting. Now, she only felt sadness and a lead weight in her stomach.

“It’s quite beautiful,” a voice from behind said. 

Carissa spun on heel, clubs at the ready. “Show yourself!” she shouted. Klatznik, how had someone gotten past her? 

Her eyes darted all over the room until she saw the shadows move like puddles of ink across the domed ceiling. The shadows gathered in the centre and coalesced into a single dark writhing mass. It coiled down into a slender black drop, a slender girl appearing out of the gloom. The girl stood on the ceiling like a bat and jumped, twisting and landing in front of Carissa.

“Praxina?” Carissa shouted. 

No, it was not possible. She wore a dress just like Praxina’s with the same butterfly symbol on her chest, but it was not her.

The Praxina lookalike was shorter despite her heels, her face rounder and her eyes a greyer shade of blue. Her long burgundy hair had a neat fringe above her eyes. The rest was swept up into ornate buns on the sides of her head ribbons that looked like black butterflies.

“You’re far from the shanila magna ceremonia,” the girl said.

“And you’re…you’re Sir Mephisto’s younger sister. Sera…?” Carissa stuttered, tongue fuzzy. Her heart pounded against her ribcage. 

The girl wrinkled her nose, surprised that someone knew. “I am _Lady_ Serafiel, a knight of the Order of Black and White. And who are you?”

“Uhh…Accala, my lady,” Carissa lied too slowly. She had the foresight to at least curtsey like a proper lady.

“Did you know my brother?” Serafiel stood in front of the portrait beside her, admiring the work. “My brother painted this. I think she’s the Princess of Calyx. Did you know Sir Mephisto?”

Carissa bit her cheeks. Maybe Serafiel could not tell who the girl in the portrait was. She had changed a lot since the Ball of Roses, grown a couple of inches and cut her hair.

“I only knew him in passing,” she lied. “He…he was an excellent artist.”

“Everyone says that,” Serafiel scoffed. “I used to not believe them until I came down to Volta and saw his work in some of the galleries.”

“His work is excellent, my lady.”

Serafiel stood in front of the painting for a long time. The more Carissa stared, the more she saw Praxina in her. There was something softer in her eyes though.

“I was seven years when Praxina left. Then Mephisto left when I turned nine. I never cried so hard in my life and I begged him not to go. He said that he was going to become a world renown painter.”

“That wasn’t true, was it?”

“No.” Serafiel let out a sorrowful sigh. “He was a knight. He was going to fight the Empire. He…said that he was going to bring our sister back. People say that we’re not supposed to have favourite siblings, but I think that’s not true. Mephisto was my favourite over Praxina and I was scared that I was going to lose him forever.”

Carissa wished she could share the sentiment about Carina. Mephisto had always been her favourite between the Sidonay twins. Praxina was…intense, good in small measures.

Serafiel continued her story. “Then he got on his horse and left. I don’t even remember what he looks like or how his voice sounds anymore. He was a spy, so everything he did was shrouded in secrecy and lies. His messages were few and far between and he never mentioned drawing. I thought he had stopped altogether—” She gestured to canvases and drawings everywhere. “—he hadn’t.”

“If things had been different, he could’ve become a master or royal court painter,” Carissa added. Her eyes fell on the portrait again. “He’s really good.”

“If things had been different, he would have never left home,” Serafiel said. The girl drew in her breath and Carissa sensed that something changed in her. “You also wouldn’t be _lying_ to my face about who you are.”

Carissa gripped her clubs tightly. “Listen, I didn’t—”

_“Anoderere!”_

Carissa was slammed into a wall, her head cracking the rotted wood behind her. Her vision blurred, speckled with white. Black crystal pinned her hands to the wall above her head. More sprouted at her feet and climbed up her legs to her hips, trapping her and draining her of her magic.

The room spun for Carissa. 

Cool and deadly, Serafiel pointed a black crystal sword to the princess’s face. It was a straight double-edged blade made of ruby with a long tassel on the end.

“I’m young, not stupid. I know who you are. Amongst the Resistance is the Princess of Calyx who rides with Third Battalion of Lady Morgaine’s Shield.” 

Serafiel lowered her sword to her side.

“Two years ago, I received a letter from Mephisto saying that he had ended up in Calyx. He always told the most fantastical stories, saying that he became friends with princes and princesses, fought dragons and monsters. I used to think that they were all fabricated lies meant to entertain me until one day, I got a letter that was different than the others. He told me about the Princess of Calyx and how she reminded him of me, a younger sister neglected by an older sibling who was too busy with the burdens of duty. He told me how he was sick of the traveling and cajoling, how he missed home, how he wished he could forget his responsibilities. He talked about you fondly, how you were nothing like the other prats, wishing that I should meet you one day. Finally, a week ago, we received a vocalextra informing us of my brother’s death. I came here to find out who was responsible, _Princess_ _Carissa_.”

Carissa’s blood turned to ice. She struggled in the black crystal and none of her magic gathered. 

“I was there when Mephisto…when it happened, Serafiel,” Carissa confessed, trying to stall for time.She already knew she was making a mistake but the words had already left her mouth. 

Where were Jodan and Spenser? Had Serafiel dispatched them already?

“You killed my brother?” Serafiel shouted.

“No! No one killed him!” Carissa continued even though her mouth was dry. She told the truth, as much as she knew at least. “It was an accident. The menhir that floated above the temple had gotten knocked off balance during the fight and…and it was going to fall on Praxina. He pushed her out of the way… He… It obliterated him. It had been supercharged with dark magic and it had reacted to a stray bolt. It…exploded.”

“Who fired the stray bolt?”

Carissa shook her head. “Serafiel, don’t do this, please! It’s over! It won’t bring him back.”

“I want to know who killed him!” Serafiel shrieked. 

Carissa recoiled. More black crystal climbed up Carissa’s body her anger boiled. 

_“Veritas!”_ The girl lifted a hand to Carissa’s head and Carissa could feel something invade her mind. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes as Serafiel tore through her memories. Scenes of the Battle of Andrak flooded her mind, coming back to her with intense clarity. Serafiel watched Mephisto’s death through the princess’s eyes.

Serafiel let out a scream and brought a hand up to her own throat, taking shallow panicked breaths.“I looked everywhere on this gods-cursed mountain for two days and there isn’t even been anything to bring back home!”

The emotion was plain on the girl’s face. The devastation, the rage, the loss, the _finality_ of it all. There was nothing left.

“But you have Praxina,” Carissa mumbled, trying to catch her breath. She broke out in a cold sweat. It came back to her, the heat of battle, the hot crystal exploding around her. “Praxina’s still out there. I know where she is. I know how to find her—”

An enchanted arrow whizzed past Serafiel and lodged itself in the black crystal encasing the Calixan princess’ hands. The arrow exploded shattered instantly, freeing one of her arms.

Serafiel pivoted just in time to cross swords with Spenser.

“Carissa! Get out of there!” he shouted. Serafiel dove in for a stab and he barely dodged in time. Spenser’s movements were sluggish from his injuries and it showed on his face. 

_“Crystal solvenda!”_ The Calixan princess smashed the remaining black crystal with her club. She collapsed to the ground.

Spenser and Serafiel fought, each strike measured and calculated. Carissa found her limps and jumped into the fray. Her clubs locked with Serafiel’s blade. Carissa threw her back and the girl retreated several lengths back. Everything felt ten times heavier after having been drained by black crystal. She knew Spenser would go in for a decisive stab, so she twisted to give his wrist a firm kick, making him lose his grip on his sword and his forward momentum. His rapier cluttered on the cracked tiles.

“What the fuck, Carissa?” he yelled, rubbing his wrist.

“Stop fighting!” Carissa shouted at him and then locked eyes with Serafiel. Just to be sure, she drew a line in the sand, or rather a line in the tiles with a spell, dividing the room in half with violet crystal.

Serafiel stepped back a safe distance. Spenser drew himself up and called his blade back to his hand, confusion in his eyes. Carissa pointed the head of her club at his chest and that stopped him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, calling his sword back to his hand

“We weren’t fighting.”

“She had you pinned against the wall!”

“She’s Mephisto’s sister,” she explained. At his look of horror, she added, “No, not Praxina, she’s his other sister. She’s younger than him. I’m trying to avoid a fight with her.”

“Look how well that turned out.”

“Will you shut up for a minute and listen to me?” she hissed.

Spenser recoiled and shut his mouth, shocked.

“Spenser, she’s only looking for Mephisto’s remains, but…”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“what if we got her to convince Praxina to come back to Ephedia and go home?”

“What?” he said incredulously. “Carissa, she’s the enemy!”

Carissa turned to Serafiel, sizing her up. The girl readied for another bout. “She could’ve killed me. She could’ve just stabbed me in the back and left me here to die, but she didn’t. She announced her presence to me and we talked.”

“Carissa, this is crazy!” he argued. 

“And you’re not in any condition to fight! Do you think you'll be any match against her?” Carissa gritted beneath her breath. Sometimes, she hated how stubborn Spenser could be. 

Her eyes darted around the room looking for a sliver of orange. She hoped that Jodan did not skewer Serafiel like he did Izira.

If she could somehow get Serafiel on their side now, they could hopefully avoid a lot of bloodshed on Ephedia and on Earth. They could end a war before it had even begun.

Carissa curtsied again, with the grace befitting a royal princess, glad that she had not completely forgotten all her manners. She schooled her expressions trying channel her sister’s queenly irreproachability. “Serafiel, I apologize for lying. I am Princess Carissa of Calyx. And I…I knew your brother for a short time in Calyx as a friend before we became enemies. Despite what he did, I do believe that he was genuinely a good person and he… He didn’t deserve to die the way he did here. You saw what happened. I know there isn’t anything we can do for your bother, but we can still help Praxina. She’s sworn to get her vengeance against the people who killed Mephisto.”

“Who is the pink princess in your memories?”

“I can’t tell you that, Lady Serafiel.”

“Forgive me, but I was under the impression that you were the _Princess of Calyx_. Is justice and honour not in your blood? My brother was not just some beggar on the street. He was a noble-born son from one the oldest houses in all of Ephedia. He fought in a war that was never ours to begin with.”

Carissa wished that Spenser could deal with this. He was the smoother diplomat. “If you go after Mephisto’s murderer, what will stop the rest of the Ephedia from coming after your house? Honour and justice is fine and all, but the harder decision is knowing when to stop. I want to avoid senseless violence and lost of life.”

“So I’m just supposed to stand by as my brother’s murderer walks free in the world? Is that where the violence needs to stop? When my brother gets murdered? Where is the justice then?”

“I’m saying that there are better ways of getting justice, like standing trial before Lady Morgaine’s Shield. You don’t know Praxina, she’s changed—a lot. It’s not just Mephisto’s death. Something unnatural happened on this mountain and it changed her for the worst. She’s going to kill anyone who gets in her way, including a lot of innocent people. We all have to stop her.”

Carissa was begging for Iris, Talia and Auriana’s lives, for their friend’s on Earth and for all the people of Ephedia.

Serafiel was quiet and the Calixan girl thought maybe she had gotten through to her. She hoped the silence was good thing.

She was wrong.

“Praxina is my sister, she wasn’t my favourite, but she is my family and she is out there trying to avenge our brother. Mephistopheles was the second born child and I was this third. So everything that was meant for him now falls to me, his titles, his lands, his responsibilities, and it is my duty as his successor to avenge him.”

“So you’re going to keep doing this out of duty?”

“No, out of love.”

Carissa could not help the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. 

Love. Love for a brother. Was that what real love made people do? 

The conversation was over. There was nothing else to say that could change anyone’s mind. 

Serafiel lifted a hand and a crystal knife hissed through the air at Carissa. Spenser slammed into the Calixan Princess as the knife sliced his shoulder, both of them crashing to the floor.

A fight erupted in the chamber. Jodan revealed himself from the shadow of a stack of canvases— _how did she miss him? He’s literally wearing orange_ —and cornered Serafiel behind a column with his arrows.

Carissa rolled to her feet and ran, circling around the room behind the columns. She had dropped her clubs carelessly somewhere as she broke into a dead run. “Serafiel, please stop! Please! You have to stop!” The more she shouted, the more childish her pleas became.

Serafiel was knelt on the floor, magic circle spinning under her feet. Carissa recognized the power of a summoning as the floor swelled with the mountain’s energy.

_“Aterodere!”_

A black crystal beast rose out of Serafiel’s circle. Carissa jumped out of the way and dove behind a column.

Gossamer wings and red claws crawled out from under the balcony, knocking down columns and bringing the second floor crumbling. It was a writhing bat-shaped mass of crystal and fur. One glossy citrine eye glared out from the shadows.

Serafiel took flight and coated the ceiling and doors with glaciers of impenetrable obsidian crystal. Not even light from the outside could refract through it, sealing the room in complete darkness. Serafiel vanished in a burst of dark flames.

The beast let out a silent pulsating shriek that threatened to destroy the room.

Carissa covered her ears. Her head rung like the bells of the Cathedral of Noble Souls. The bat monster’s cry was soundless, but it was pitched so high that it pulsated in her ears like a war drum.

And then silence.

Or rather, something akin to it. There was a ringing in her ears she could not shake off.

The room trembled under the thunderous footfalls of the monster. She sidled up against a wall, trying to keep herself from going into full a panic in the darkness. What she wouldn’t give to have Spenser’s eyes or Amaru’s crystal arena right now. She thought against making a light. It would only give away her location.

Spenser, Hendrik and Jodan would chew her out later about all her stupid decisions to led them to where they were.

Orange and violet flashes illuminated the room and glowing crystal flew everywhere. She scrambled across the room, using the dim glow of Spenser’s magic circle to guide her. He was hidden behind a barrier of crystal taking potshots in the dark.

“Are you okay?” Spenser asked. Blood started to bloom under the white uniform and dribbled down his right arm. “You’re not hurt?”

“You’re bleeding out! How deep is it?”

“I’ll live.”

“It’s your sword arm! What are you going to do if you can’t fight with your sword?”

“Use my left.”

She shook her head and swallowed her nausea. She grabbed a slender knife hidden in her stocking and cut off a part of her cloak to use as a compress.

She starting chanting the few healing spells she knew, using a finger to draw runes around the wound. She watched the bleeding stop and the skin slowly start to stitch itself. She would probably need to go at it with a needle and thread and some poultices.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said breathlessly. “You wouldn’t be hurt—”

“Not now, Carissa.” His voice was gruff and strained, a telltale sign that he was immensely pissed off. After a minute, he breathed easier from the weak healing spell. “Let’s destroy that thing and get out of here. I shouldn’t be using dark magic at all with these healing salves on me, but desperate times and all. How are you holding up against the black crystal?”

“I can handle it.” Black crystal was her antithesis, the opposite of everything she drew her powers from. Every movement was an effort as the black crystal ate at her energy. 

Spenser fared much better despite his injuries, either because he knew dark magic or he was just so much more prepared to deal with pain. 

But Carissa was not out of the fight. She had yet to call on the full strength of her magic. Or her backup plan. She took a deep breath and composed herself. She was a warrior and she had not come this far just to get beat down. She took a tactical measure of the room, or tried. She and the other Shield knights had faced down monsters hundreds of times and they had always come out on top, but her failure with Serafiel kept blocking her.

“Guys, I only have so many arrows,” Jodan yelled from across the room.

“On me, Carissa!” Spenser called his sword, leapt out of cover and led the charge, Carissa right behind him. He aimed for a wing, sliding under and plunging his sword straight into the thin membrane. The wing ripped like a delicate dress. 

Carissa followed up with her own attack. _“Crystal colidum!”_

Purple blades dug into the beast’s matted fur and cut through the torn wing. It unleashed another mind-shattering shriek, writhing with pain. Slabs of black crystal loosened and came crushing from the ceiling.

_“Protectio!”_

Spenser conjured a shield over their heads, the crystal already cracking from the monster’s scream. It shattered into a million pieces and it sent them flying into a bookshelf. The wood cracked underneath them. Carissa shouted when a splinter cut into her leg.

Blood welled under her stocking. She fumbled for the injury and pulled herself up. As long as she could stand and fight, she could deal with it later. She pulled the splinter out, crying. Her magic armlet was powerful enough to start the healing process and make the pain subside for a while.

They were positioned at the monster’s rear. It was not able to fly around in such a small space and it moved slowly in its awkward bat body. Like any animal, it had superior senses and a natural instinct to kill them—which sucked for the three of them.

She drew on the full strength of her magic artifact and called the sacred words. 

_“Carissa, Princess of Calyx!”_

She burned with lilac fire, her hair lengthening and turning a bright luminous violet. Her clothes changed from her fake uniform to her magical dress, her long princess trail fluttering behind her. Gods of Calyx, she felt fucking invincible. There was no pain, no tears, no fear.

The bat beast was blinded by Carissa’s transformation, its fur and flesh burning, and an idea struck Spenser. 

“Carissa, it’s weak against light! That’s why she covered the ceiling.”

“Got it!”

“Don’t do anything stupid—! Goddamnit, Carissa!”

Carissa ran headfirst and pelted the monster into submission with her brightest energy spells. _“Crystal pila! Crystal offensio! Crystal colidum!”_

She found her rhythm. She was untouchable like this, nearly unbeatable. The monster curled into a small ball in the corner like a wounded animal, trying to get away from Carissa.

Carissa raised her clubs about her head and her sigillum spun under her feet, readying for the grand finale. She was going to exorcise the monster into a white oblivion.

_“Calyx!”_ she cried out as the gems on her clubs lit up.

“Spenser, stop her!” Jodan shouted from across the room. “If she does a crystal luxtra, the whole damn country is gonna know we’re here!”

Seeing the archer take a stance pointed at Carissa, Spenser leapt to his feet and he pushed the girl to the ground. They tumbled, a mess of limbs and weapons. The knight did not want a repeat of Jodan planting arrows in a princess.

Immediately, Carissa’s crystal luxtra died around them, energy dispersing in hot waves, and the girl squirmed under him.

“Spenser, get off me! What are you doing? The monster—”

_“Crystal solvenda.”_ Jodan changed his angle and charged his arrow with a spell. He shot straight up into the ceiling and arrow embedded itself into the obsidian. 

A small hairline crack appeared, glowing orange, and it spread across the black circle. The whole ceiling shattered and shafts of light cut through into the room. Light fell on the monster and it screamed horribly. Smoke rose off its singed fur as it crawled to the shadows.

The room lit up with afternoon sunlight and the black crystal shattered into dust. The three of them watched the bat beast burn slowly.

Carissa threw Spenser off and rolled to her feet. “What was that for? I could have done that too,” she spat out. Her voice had an extra magical oomph, still fully powered.

Jodan narrowed his gaze, unflinching. He had height and it was easy to look down on her. “Your spell would have told everybody where we are. The point of this secret mission is to be stealthy. There is literally an army of Gramorr’s sorcerers within marching distance of us. An army means advance parties, and that means scouts. Remember?”

Carissa swallowed. Her eyes grew wider with every one of Jodan’s works. Feeling her passion get doused with cold logic, she ran a hand through her hair and tried to reorient herself. She was still buzzing with energy. The crystal luxtra would have eaten up her magic and given her a cool down period. She let the power go and she started to feel light.

Outwitted, Carissa lowered her gaze. She was still buzzing with energy. The crystal luxtra would have eaten up her magic and given her a cool down period. She did not know any other spells similar to crystal luxtra. That in itself had taken years to master. She found herself reeling, bouncing from one emotion to another. 

“What about the monster? What should we do?” she gritted out.

“Crystal florus,” the Voltan suggested. “Do you know how to do that?”

“Crystal what?”

“Spenser get her out of here. I’ll deal with the monster.”

Carissa looked at the both of them. A wordless exchange happened between the boys and they both agreed to separate without including her in the conversation.

Spenser dragged Carissa out of the temple from the way they came. It was not until they got her outside and Spenser placed both hands on her shoulders to force her to sit down on a fallen column did all the emotions hit Carissa at once. Her powers waned out and she powered down.

Spenser tried to form words and failed.

Carissa tried too but nothing she could think would sound sincere. She had messed up big time, worst than all those times on Earth.

She had almost given away where Iris and the others were. She buried her face in her knees and tried to stifle her tears. Gods, what had she done? Consorting with the enemy?

Spenser stayed tightlipped and the silence was worse than the verbal lashing Carissa was expecting, even hoping for.

A few minutes later, Jodan came out of the temple, serious as ever.

“We have to get as far away from here as possible before that girl sends reinforcements to finish us off,” Spenser said. He summoned Belphoebe.

Carissa swallowed as she held on to the saddle. She turned to Spenser. “I’m sor—”

“We’re not discussing this here, Carissa.” The tone was clearly _shut up, don’t talk, just hold on_.

000000

It had been hours since Andrak. 

The three had scaled down the back of the mountain, disappeared into the forest around the lake, going as far as Fenrir and Belphoebe could take them. By then, Jodan and Spenser were tired as well and looking for a decent place to hole up for the night. They were losing daylight and they had yet to see any sign of Gramorr’s Army.

They walked for another hour until Carissa’s legs gave up and she tripped, falling over. Her head was spinning, but she forced herself to push on. 

Spenser was at her side instantly.

She did not say anything, scared of what other secrets she would divulge.

“Take a break.”

“I’m fine!” Carissa whined. “Just keep going! I can keep up.”

“Stop it, Carissa.” He did not even flinch when she scowled at him. “You’re not fine.”

Jodan frowned at the both of them. “Let’s set up camp over there. It’s good enough for a lean-to and a cloaking spell. No fire tonight, though. Cold dinners all around. I’ll take first watch.”

Dinner was a shitty silent affair where Jodan did the most talking. He looked over everyone’s injuries and made Spenser lie down to let the magic salves work and let his body sort itself out. After dinner, Spenser was out like a light and he slept so deeply he snored. Carissa read a page of Sun Tzu in the dying sunlight before falling asleep.

She was roused in the middle of the night by Jodan. The Voltan settled in her spot and closed his eyes. She used her shift as an opportunity to scarf down more food and relieve herself. Her leg was healing well. If she ate more food and concentrated, the flesh wound be gone in a day or two.

She checked the perimeter, walking wider and wider circles, getting lost in thought. 

She wanted to think it was destiny that she had met Serafiel but then she remembered, just like Praxina, Serafiel was supposed to have a twin, a younger brother. Where was Zachariah? 

Her panic skyrocketed when she sensed dark magic in the air. 

_Gramorr’s_. The miasma of unease, the all-consuming darkness…

She hid in the shadow of a tree and listened for anything out of place.She fumbled for her clubs and heard clothe rustling in the wind. She spotted sight of a familiar cut of clothe in the distance.

A dirty cape hung from a tree branch. It was covered in dust and leaves like it had been forgotten there for a few days. She waited, looking for signs of soldiers or scouts. When nothing happened, she eased out of her hiding place, approaching with cat-like steps.

The wind billowed and the cape danced, moonlight illuminating the green lining. She knew the pin dangling from one lapel. It was half of a set of pewter butterfly wings.

This was Mephisto’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mephisto! Or Mephisto's cape that he lost in the first chapter!
> 
> Also, this chapter turned out to be more Carissa-centric than I had planned after many, many, many rewrites.
> 
> If readers are wondering about Serafiel’s monster, it is the bat monster from “Batty” (S1E13).
> 
> Officially, I've moved the spells and glossary to Tumblr.
> 
> [Official Fanfic Tumblr](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/)  
> [Glossary](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/post/170091298987/glossary)  
> [Spells](https://gemsofephedia.tumblr.com/post/172709306877/spells)


End file.
